
"iiliEliiiliii!!;: 



UBRARY OF CONGRESS 




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nil: WW I LAiriEREn nii\i with isiy leather bket. \\m 
A thing to stand out of the way of 



HILLS, LAKES, 



FOREST STREAMS 



% (iraiii|r in tlje C^atmuguii M^^b. 



i^' 



BY Sr^H. HAMMOND 



" For myself I prefer the quiet of the country, a ramble along the rivers and brooks, 
»r better still, some wild forest dell, where the birds are merry all the day, and where M 
*nseemly revelry breaks the stillness of ; 




NEW YORK: 
J. C. DERBY, 8 PARK PLACE 
BOSTOIT : PHILLIPS, SAMPSON & CO. 

CINCINNATI : H. W. DERBY. 

1854. 



-■f>\^ 




Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1854, by 
S. H. HAMMOND, 

In the Clerk'8 Office of the District Court for the Northern District of 
New York. 



■^uH 



STEREOTYPED BY 



HINTRD BY 



THOMAS B. SMITH, JOHN A. GRAY 

216 William St. N. Y. 97 Cliff St. N. Y. 



TO HIS EXCELLENCY, 
HORATIO SEYMOUR. 

Before you became a leader of a great poliLical party, 
or the chief magistrate of a great State, you loved the 
woods, the lakes, the deep shadows of the forest and the 
mountain streams — to throw the fly for the speckled trout 
in river or brook, 

•' To follow the stag, o'er the slippery crag, 
And to chase the hounding roe" 

Permit me, then, respectfully to dedicate to you, not as 
the highest executive officer of the Empire State, hut as 
a chivalrous and enthusiastic sportsman, the following 
■work. 

The Authoh. 



PREFACE. 

If the reader will lay before him a map of the counties 
of Clinton, Franklin, St. Lawrence and Essex, and begin- 
ning at the Chazy lake, run his eye along thence to Brad- 
ley's Lake, then to the Chateaugay, then west to Ragged 
Lake and Indian Lake, and so down through the series of 
small lakes, to the St. Eegis, and then to the Saranacs, 
and down along again through three small lakes to the 
Racquette river, and then down that beautiful watercourse 
to Tupper's Lake, and to Long Neack, he will note a broad 
sweep of country, containing millions of acres, which, when 
the following pages were written, was a perfect wilderness. 
He can trace out a circle of some two hundred miles in 
circumference, enclosing natural scenery the most wild 
and romantic, lakes and rivers the most beautiful imagin- 
able. I was out there several weeks in the woods, along 
the streams, and floating on those beautiful lakes, and saw 
during that time no face of a white man, save that of my 



vi Preface. 

guide, or perhaps my own, reflected back from the quiet 
depths of some of those pure waters, that nestle so qui- 
etly among the ancient forests and the hills. 

I was on a " tramp," partly for health and partly for 
pleasure. I had no intention of publishing a book of ad- 
ventures, but I kept memoranda in pencil in small field- 
books, and after my return wTote them out as my leisure 
permitted. Some three or four of the first chapters were 
published in the shape of letters to editors of my ac- 
quaintance. The balance rested until I became connected 
with the press, as the editor of the Albany State Register. 
I looked upon the manuscript as a sort of fund, upon 
which I could draw for light reading, with which to amuse 
my readers when pressed for "copy." Upon submitting 
it to one of the proprietors of the paper for his aid in 
making selections, he surprised me somewhat by saying 
it was all readable, and advised me to begin at the begin- 
ning, without troubling myself by making extracts. I 
followed his advice, and a large portion of the work was 
thus published in chapters, in my paper. It was well 
spoken of by friends, in whose judgment I had confidence, 
and was somewhat extensively copied by the press. I was 
advised to publish the whole in a book form. I submitted 
it to a gentleman in the publishing line, and here it is, my 
first, and very possibly my last effort, at authorship. Ifc 



does not challenge criticism. It makes no special preten- 
sions to literary merit. People who love nature, who have 
a taste for the old woods, the lakes, and streams, and the 
forest sports, may read, and possibly be amused by it. 
They will doubtless find that it contains many faults, if 
they choose to look for them. 

There was, and doubtless still is, plenty of fish, plenty of 
deer, plenty of sport in that wild region, and, I venture to 
say, that there is no locality in the United States, at all to 
be compared with it in natural beauty of scenery. I was 
over most of the ground again last fall. The places I 
visited five years ago, are vastly easier of access now than 
they were then. The tourist can now go from Port Kent, 
on Lake Champlain, to the foot of the Lower Saranac, in a 
day. He will travel the whole distance, save about twelve 
miles, on a plank road, and the balance on a tolerably 
smooth common road. All making the most delightful 
day's journey imaginable. 

On the banks of the Lower Saranac, literally at the end 
of the road, he will find " Martin's House," a new and 
comfortable country hotel, kept by pleasant, obliging peo- 
ple. Here he will hire a boatman, with his boat and tent, 
cooking utensils, and a store of provisions, and go a hun- 
dred miles, if he chooses, " outside of a fence," over the 
most beautiful lakes, and along the most delightful rivers 



viii Preface. 

and streams that the eye ever looked upon, but all wild, 
remember — all as nature threw them down there, among 
old primeval things. His journeyings will not be toil» 
some, he will have no tramping in the woods, save occa* 
sional short carrying places, over which his boatman will 
march with his craft, like a great turtle with his shell on 
his back. He will see much that I saw, and have at- 
tempted to describe, and a good deal that I did not see, 
perhaps. And if he loves nature, and takes matters easy, 
and gives himself time, he will come out of the woods, as 
I did, a stronger, healthier, and a wiser man. 

The Author. 



11 t ^ It t S 



CHAPTER I. 

PAGE 
Ho! FOR THE TVlLDWOODS! — ThE LaKES AND THE MOUNTAIN 

Streams 13 



CHAPTER II. 

The Prison in the Woods— The Chazt Trout Fishing — Hunt- 
ing BY Torchlight 18 



CHAPTER III. 

Ragged Lake — A Fishpond on the Mountain — The Bark 
Canoe— A Deer Chase on the Water 2G 



CHAPTER IV. 

Indian Lake — The Ground Cedar and the Fawn — The Lake 
Trout— The Catamaran— The Owls 38 



CHAPTER V. 

A Trout-stream — Partridges — The Fisher — Naming a Lake 
— A Thunder-storm in the Forest — Meacham's Lake. . . 49 

CHAPTER VI. 

Morning in the Woods — My Guide — A First Yisit to the 
City — A Mistake and its Consequences 57 



X CONTENTS, 

CHAPTER VII. 

TAQK 

The Desebted Hut — Hunting on the Crust — Forest Justice 

ADMINISTERED BY A HUNTEE — A CaPTIVE AND ITS RELEASE . 68 

CHAPTER VIII. 

Going round the Hudson — The Panther and its Cubs — 
Forest Cookery 11 

CHAPTER IX, 
The Lost Child— Shack 81 

CHAPTER X. 

Dreams — The Prairies on Fire — A Wood-demon's Torch . 98 

CHAPTER XI. 

St. Regis Lake — The Bald Eagle — His Habits — A Prize . 106 

CHAPTER XII. 

The Law of the Yv^oods — Big Clear Pond — A Chase after 
a Deer — A Moose Path lit 

CHAPTER XIII. 

The Upper Saranac — A Song on the Water — A "Woodman's 
Notion of the Past, the Present, and the Future, of 
America 126 

CHAPTER XIV. 

A Sporting Excursion — A Forest Chase — The Music of the 
Hounds — The Man "who Killed the Panther and the Big 
Buck 136 

CHAPTER XV. 

Tough Tarns— A Shelter in a Storm— An Astonished Bear 
—An Uninyited Guest, and his Unceremonious Expulsion . 146 



O O N T E N T 8 . XI 



CHAPTER XVI. 



PAOB 

Signs op Eain— The Tree Frog — A Rainy Day in the Forest 153 



CHAPTER XVII. 

A Rainy Morning — Clearing up a New Country — A Half- 
breed AND nis Family 163 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

Stoney brook — Ampersand Creek — Trout — Racket River — 
A Flying Shot at a Buck 172 

CHAPTER XIX. 

A Woodman's Sermon — His Religion of Nature — His Argu- 
ment against Infidelity 189 

CHAPTER XX. 

The Silent Energy op Nature — Her Workshops — Her Joue- 
neymen 202 

CHAPTER XXI. 

The Eagle and his Prey — The Loon — His Habits — The Par- 
tridge — The Squirrel and the Forest Mice 209 

CHAPTER XXII. 

The Gray Owl— The Wild Birds— The Dumb Animal wiser 
IN his Instincts, than Man in his Reason — The Folly 
of Crime 219 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

The Jesuit's Journal — Wild Bulls and Cows, with Antlers 
like tete Stag — The "Taming" of the Indians .... 228 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

A Wild Cat — Long Neak — Round Lake — The Lower Saranac 
— A Fight between a Panther and a Bear 236 



CONTENTS. 



CHAPTER XXV. 

RICA— Its Past, Prese 
A "Woodman's Idea of Expansion 24G 



PAGE 

The Growth of America— Its Past, Present, and Future — 



CHAPTER XXVI. 

Manifest Destiny — Young America on the Move . . . .258 

CHAPTER XXVII. 

The Lower Saranac — The Bald Eagle — Umbrella Island — 
Ball-face Mountain — Mount Marcy 21 Q 

CHAPTER XXVIU. 

The Story of Old Pete Meigs — The Massacre, and the 
Retribution that followed 286 

CHAPTER XXIX. 

A Dberlick — The Vermonter and his Licklog — Shooting 
the wrong Animal 300 

CHAPTER XXX. 

Old Shadrach, and the "Water Rattlesnake — Tucker's No- 
tion OF Slavery — The End of that Institution at last . 308 

CHAPTER XXXI. 

Moonlight on the "Water — A Tillage wiped out — The Au 
Sable — Keeseyille — The Gorge — An Ore Pit 324 



Ho ! TOR THE WiLDWOODS ! — THE LaKKS AND THE MOXTNTAIIT 

Streams. 

Reader — 

Have jou ever been away in tlie wild woods, 
beyond tlie range of civilization, where the sound of 
tlie hammer, the lowing of flocks and herds, the voice 
of the ploughman, as he cries " Gee up I Gee whoa I" 
to his weary team, were never heard? Have you 
ever stood on the margin of some beautiful lake, as 
it lay slumbering in the midst of nature's wild luxuri- 
ance, above which the mountains reared their gigantic 
heads to the clouds, and around which the tall trees 
stood as " God and nature" made them, unscarred by 
the woodman's axe, sighing and moaning in the sum- 
mer vands that swept among them ? Have you all 
alone, by yourself or with an experienced woodman, 



14 Hills AND Lakes. 

ill a little craft liewn from the solid trunk of some 
gigantic pine, explored its little bays, its secluded 
inlets canopied by the wide-spreading arms of the 
trees, and festooned by the wild vines hanging grace- 
fully from the branches above you? Have you 
listened to the voice of the tiny wave, as it broke in 
ripples on the white sand at your feet, or the song of 
the little brook, as it danced over the rocks, to mingle 
with the pure waters before you? Have you heard, 
of a moonlight night, as you floated on its silvery 
bosom, the song of the whip-poor-will, the solemn hoot- 
ing of the owl, the deep bass of the frog, the shrill cry 
of the loon, the call of the wood duck, and the thou- 
sand other mysterious voices that come up from wood 
and lake — all mingling in the wild harmony of 
nature's nightly forest hymn ? If you have not, 
throw down your book or your pen, close your pon- 
derous ledger, cast away jowv briefs, give care to the 
dogs, and turn your back upon the glare and heat of 
the city, its eternal jostlings and monotonous noises, 
and fly to the deep shadows of the mountains, the 
forest dells, and the running brooks — away from clus- 
tered houses, beyond the green fields, and rough it for 
a few weeks in the woods, among the tall trees and 



TheWildwoods. 15 

the streams, where the lakes lay sleeping alone in the 
northern wilds. 

In these times of railroads and steamboats, a few 
hundred miles are as nothing, You rise in the morn- 
ing in the heart of the Empire State, the centre of a 
circle containing three millions of people. You sleep 
at night on the circumference of that circle, on the 
confines of a broad sweep of country, as yet scarcely 
explored, known only to the bold hunter, who sjDends 
all his seasons save the winter, in the pursuit of the 
game that dwells only in the depths of the forest. 
Jump aboard of the cars at Troy for Whitehall. 
Tarry not a moment at Saratoga ; there are jpeoj^le 
there — searchers after pleasure or pelf. The rich, the 
gay, the fashionable are there ; invalids in pursuit of 
health, and sharpers in pursuit of plunder, all congre- 
gate there. Leave them behind you, and ho ! for the 
wildwoods, the lakes, and the forest streams. Stop 
not at Whitehall, pleasant though it be ; there are 
people there too. A steamboat will hurry you to 
Plattsburgh ; jump aboard and be off! You will 
sopn be gliding along the beautiful waters of the 
Champlain. You will see '' Old Ti.," the surrender of 
which, old Ethan Allen, as he, with his Green Moun- 



16 Hills AND Lakes. 

tain boys came tumbling over tlie walls, demanded 
in the "name of the great Jeliovab, and tbe Conti- 
nental Congress I" You will see the ruins on Crown 
Point — grim monuments of a vanished age ! You 
will see on your left the mountains of Essex, lifting 
their bald heads to the clouds. On the right you will 
see flocks and herds, feeding in gTcen fields that 
stretch back to the base of the hills, and away off in 
the distance, the Green Mountains looming up in 
solemn grandeur, on the summits of which the mists 
of heaven rests, and along whose sides gigantic 
shadows chase each other, as the light clouds flit be- 
fore the sun. 

Plattsburgh is classic ground. It was the scene of 
a notable sea-fight, and of a hard contest on the land. 
But leave it behind you. Battle-fields are common- 
place; you can find them nearer home, where the 
bones of slaughtered men are more abundant, and 
the halo of blood-bought glory is brighter. Leave 
fighting-men to moralize over the places of the fight, 
and be off for Dannemora, the prison in the woods. 
There jou will be at the end of the road. There 
civilization has made a pause. Tame life will be 
behind you, while all before you will be forest, wild 



The Wildwoods. 17 

and unbroken, luxuriant and solemn, tall trees and 
running brooks, quiet lakes and rugged mountains. 
Old primeval things all, as they were spoken into 
existence bj the voice of God. 



II. 



The Prison in the Woods.— The Chazy Trout Fishino.— 
Hunting by Tokchlight. 



I ARRIVED at Dannemora on tlie 26tli of June. 
My old friend seized upon my baggage and sent it to 
Lis house, and then gave me my clioice to follow it or 
quarrel with Mm. "We had been friends too long to 
quarrel, so I followed my trunk, and made my head- 
quarters with him. To those who know him, nothing 
need be said of his kindness and hospitahty, his quiet 
and gentlemanly deportment, his manly sincerity and 
firmness of character. To those who do not know 
him, it needs only be said, "he is every inch a man." 
Some five miles from Dannemora, in the woods, lays 
Chazy Lake, on the banks of which is a shantee 
erected for the benefit of the fishermen that visit it. 
The way to this lake lays along a path through 



Trout-fishing. 19 

woods, that winds up and over a mountain some fif- 
teen hundred feet in elevation. 

The morning after my arrival I left Dannemora, 
and struck into the woods. I procured a guide, who 
was perfectly familiar with all the wild region which 
I proposed to visit, who carried a large pack of pro- 
visions, and other things necessary for our tramp in 
the woods. Among the tools regarded as indispen- 
sable, were an axe and augur. He carried no gun. 
For myself my load consisted of a rifle, and my fish- 
ing apparatus, including basket and rods. 

How I love the woods ! the deep shadows and the 
tall trees — ^the music of the woods too, its thousand 
voices all tuned to harmony, and all singing of 
primitive life and happiness. I love the mountain 
stream as he goes dashing and frisking over the 
rocks, diving under the logs, whirling away under 
caverned banks, where the trout sleeps, dancing over 
the pebbles and spreading abroad quietly, as if asleep 
in the still places. We arrived at Chazy, after a 
weary walk of three hours. It is a beautiful sheet 
of water, five miles in length, by one or more in 
breadth. Above it, on the south and east, tower 
lofty mountains covered with gigantic timber, while 



20 Hills and Lakes. 

on tlie west and nortli the old forest stretches aWay 
in all its primeval grandeur. It is indented witli 
beautiful bays, in wliicli a boat may float unseen from 
the broad lake itself. A hundred little streams 
come dancing and laughing down precipitous ledges, 
or from little inlets, into which our canoe would glide, 
while above us the branches of the trees, festooned with 
wild vines met, like an arbor in a lady's garden— 

""We cast our lines in Largo Bay." 

Eeader, did you ever throw the fly to tempt the 
silvery denizen of the lake, or river, to his destruction? 
Have you watched him, as it skimmed like a living 
insect along the surface, dart from his hiding-place, 
and rush upon the tempting but deceitful morsel ; and 
have you noticed his astonishment, when he found the 
hook was in his jaw ? Have you watched him, as he 
bent your slender rod "like a reed shaken by the 
wind," in his efforts to free himself, and then have 
you reeled him to your hand, and deposited him in 
your basket, as the spoil of your good right arm ? If 
you have not^ leave the dull, monotonous, every-day 
things around you, and flee to the Chazy Lake. If 
you have and love the sport, still tramp over the 



Hunting by Toechlight. 21 

hills, beneath the cool shades of the brave old trees, 
to the Chazy. 

We did not wantonly waste the good things of 
God. In ten minutes we had secured trout enough 
for our supper and breakfast, and our consciences 
would permit us to go no further. We returned to 
our shantee, and having supped, prepared for a differ- 
ent kind of sport in the evening. The forest abounds 
with deer, and these animals in the night come to the 
water to get rid of the insects that torment them, and 
to feed on the hlies and grasses that grow in the shal- 
low water near the shore. While thus feeding, you 
may paddle a canoe, with a light in the bow, literally 
up to them, provided the light is so arranged that you 
are behind it in the shade. They will stand gazing 
fearlessly at the light until the canoe, in some instances, 
fairly touches them. With a small torch of fatwood 
in the bow of our dug-out, we shoved from the shore 
about nine o'clock, in pursuit of deer. We moved 
slowly and silently along the margin of the lake, my 
guide seated at the stern of the canoe, and I crouched 
in the bow, just behind the light, and shaded from it 
by broad sheets of bark, — so arranged that the rays 
would fall on the forward sight of my rifle. We had 



22 Hills and Lakes. 

gone but a short distance wlien I discovered, some 
eight or ten rods in advance of ns, what to me seemed 
two balls of fire, but wliicli in fact was the reflection 
of our light from the staring eyeballs of an old buck 
that had been feeding in the lake. Unmindful of the 
admonitions of my guide, I leaned over the side of the 
boat to get a better view of his buckship, when the 
light fell upon my face. I have been called a good- 
looking man, and told that my features were comely, 
but that buck thought otherwise, for the moment he 
saw it he bounded away, and went whistling and 
snorting up the mountain. He had no appreciation 
of manly beauty ! 

We passed silently on into a little bay, where the 
same phenomenon of double lights j)resented itself. 
Slowly and silently the boat glided along towards the 
spot, when a slight deviation from our course showed 
us a large deer gazing stupidly at our light. We ad- 
vanced to within some forty feet of where he stood, 
when the canoe came to a stand, and I fired. The 
ball went through his brain, and he fell dead. We 
were now provided with venison, and we returned to 
our shantee. Fatigue makes rest pleasant, and we 
slept soundly od gi^een liemlock boughs that night. 



Hunting by Torchlight. 23 

A smudge protected us from the musquitoes and 
black flies, and our slumbers were unbroken. 

The next day we started for Bradley's pond, a 
little lake some five miles deeper in the forest, and 
midway between the Shazee and the Upper Chatau- 
gay. On the bank we built a temporary shantee, and 
I threw my fly for a few minutes — but it was wasteful 
to take trout as I caught them there, and I desisted. 
We coasted this little sea before evening. It is per- 
haps two miles in circumference, but has little that is 
attractive about it, save that it lays there all alone in 
the forest, and great trees hem it in on all sides. Its 
shores are low and marshy, and I cannot recommend 
it for its beauty. In the evening we prepared a torch, 
and struck out on the water in pursuit of deer. It is 
marvellous, the number there were, along the shores 
of this little lake. It affords, however, abundant pas- 
ture for them. Pond-lilies and grasses grow in the 
shallow water in great profusion. The pond-lily, in 
these lakes, differs from any I have ever seen else- 
where. It grows up from the bottom, sometimes from 
a depth of fifteen feet, with a great rough stem like a 
cabbage-stalk, of the same pithy and fibrous texture, 
as large as a man's arm, until it reaches the surface, 



24 Hills and Lakes. 

and there shoots out a hundred tendrils all round, at 
the end of each one having a great round leaf. From 
each of these great stems, the leaves thus arranged, 
and connected with it by the small tendrils, spread 
over a surface of four or six feet in diameter. It is 
upon these large stems that the deer feed. They 
manage to loosen them in some way from the bottom, 
and feed upon them as they float upon the surface. 
We could hear them stamping in the water, and the 
grating sound of their teeth, as they bit into the stems 
of the pond-lilies. Every few rods, double lights 
would glisten before us, and strange to say, the stupid 
beasts would stand until the canoe approached within 
six feet of them, gazing in apparent amazement at the 
strange light that was advancing upon them, but when 
we looked out from the shadow and showed them our 
faces, Lord ! how they would snort and run. We had 
no occasion for venison, and we did them no harm 
that night. In the morning we packed up again, and 
dove deeper into the forest. We struck for the Cha- 
eaugay (called Shatagee) Lakes, and about ten o'clock 
came to the head of the Upper Lake. This lake is 
often visited by sportsmen in the summer months, and 
has as often, almost been described. It is rarely, how- 



Hunting by Torchlight. 25 

ever, that it has been visited in the direction we came. 
It has usuall}^ been approached from the Lower Lake, 
on the lower portion of which is a settlement. In- 
deed, I was told that it could not well be reached from 
the Chazy, But my guide knew the woods, and I 
followed him. I had good sport every mile of the 
way. We followed the ouUet of Bradley's Lake, and 
crooked enough it was too. But the stream abounds 
in trout, and I shot a fine deer and two wood-rabbits 
on the route* 



III. 



RAoaED LiKE — A Fishpond on the Mo-ctntain. — The Babk 
Canoe. — A Deer Chase on the Wats'.r. 



I STARTED the next morning for Eagged Lake, 
some ten miles deeper in tlie wilderness. On this ex- 
pedition we were guided solely bj the instinct, or if 
you please, the judgment of my guide. We found no 
path — no footsteps or marked trees to point out the 
way, but through "tangle brush," and over logs felled 
by the strong winds, we travelled on. Ten miles in 
the wilderness, of a hot summer day, with a rifle, 
fishing-rod, and basket, is a journey which must not 
be lightly considered ; a mile, under sucb circum- 
stances, requires a multitude of steps and many drops 
of "the sweat of a man's brow." True, the way is 
enlivened by the song of the forest bird, the chirp of 
the squirrel, and the murmuring of the mountaiu 
brooks ; still the feet become weary, and the mossy 



The Pond on the Mountain. 27 

bank of some wild stream looks pleasant, as a resting- 
place from tlie toil of travel. 

Our way at one place lay across a kill, lower to be 
sure than tke mountains on our left, but wkick rose to 
an elevation of some eigkt hundred or a thousand feet 
above the ravine that wound around its base. Here, 
on the very summit of a hill, we came to a pond some 
two hundred jsivds in circumference, the water of 
which was beautifully clear and cold ; two small 
streams from its opposite sides started off in contrary 
directions, on their journey to "the great deep," the 
one to empty itself into the Chazy, and the other to 
wander, the Lord knows where, save to its final des- 
tination, the mighty St. Lawrence and the ocean. 
Though blest with two outlets, the pond had no inlet 
visible to the eye. It was in fact a great spring or 
reservoir, on a dividing ridge, which received its 
waters from below, to send them off through the 
channels I have mentioned. The land around it was 
marshy, but covered with small boulders, which lay 
around the edge with the regularity almost of a wall. 

Having rigged my pole and line, I stepped from 
rock to rock to the margin of the pond, and threw 
my fly. It had scarcely touched the water when it 



%S Hills and Lakes. 

was seized by a speckled trout, weighing, perhaps, a 
quarter of a pound. I caught six more ^'of the same 
sort" as fast as I could throw mj fly, — and could have 
caught any quantity ; but we needed only enough for 
a dinner, and I forbore. In the meantime my guide 
had kindled a fire by the side of a fallen tree, and had 
already upon the coals a steak, cut from the deer I 
had killed on the previous night. This together with 
the trout, subjected to the same broiling process, and 
bread and butter, constituted our dinner. Let not 
your fancy picture mahogany tables, white napkins, 
silver forks, China dishes, and cushioned chairs, — 
these are far removed from the simple wants and 
necessities of life^ — they belong to the cities — to the 
age of luxury and studied refinement. Clean birch 
bark, just stripped from the tree, and a jack-knife, are 
the simple implements of a forest dinner. " Fingers 
were made before forks," and a hungry man must not 
be over delicate about usicg them. 

I am a temperate man, and can talk right elo- 
quently about the evils of strong drink, but the 
pocket pistol, from the pack of my guide, loaded with 
choice brandy, did me no hurt that day, though dis« 
charged at my own head. 



The Bark Canoe. 29 

Having dined, and for lialf an hour rested our 
wearj limbs, ve shouldered our traps and marclied 
on : about tliree o'clock we found ourselves at Eagged 
Lake, — as beautiful a sheet of water as ever poet sang 
of, or enthusiast described. On this lake we found no 
boat ; few amateur fishermen have had the courage to 
visit its seclusion ; and the hunter, as he ranges the 
wilderness, finds no use for a water craft. But my 
guide was a man of experience, and of vast resource 
in all that related to wood craft. " We will," said he, 
'* coast this lake as we have done the rest, and that in 
a vessel of our own construction." 

In the neigliborhood of the lake are scattered fir 
trees of large growth, one of which my guide selected 
for his purpose, and with his axe felled it to the 
ground. From the bark stripped from the trunk of 
this tree, we had, long before sundown, constructed a 
canoe which, by the exercise of great caution, and by 
keeping " our chew of tobacco precisely in the middle 
of the mouth," enabled us to navigate the lake. 
It was a curiosity in its wa}^, — small saplings or 
"staddles," as my guide termed them, cut first some 
six feet in length, then being nearly severed in the 
middle, were bent together like clamps, confined and 



BO Hills AND Lakes. 

held in contact the ends of the bark; these formed 
the bow and stern ; tow, which had found a place in 
the pack of my guide, was stuffed into the crevices ; 
over this was poured melted gum. gathered from 
around the knots of the tree we had felled, and from 
cracks in the unsound trunks of others around us ; 
sticks stretched across from side to side gave it shape, 
and slim "staddles" laid lengthwise in the bottom, 
gave it strength to sustain our weight. Paddles were 
hewn from slabs, split from the trunk of the tree we 
had felled. Being all prepared, we launched our 
homely vessel, and seating ourselves in the bottom on 
a cushion of boughs, we shoved from the shore. 

" Slie walked the water like a thing of life." 

So long as we remained seated on the bottom, it 
was steady enough, but when, from our cramped 
position, it became necessary to change our posture, 
it required the skill of a rope dancer to preserve 
our equilibrium, and prevent one's self from being 
plumped into the cold waters of the lake. 

This sheet of water is most appropriately named. 
Its outlines are peculiarly irregular, — most emphatic- 
ally ragged. Here a rocky bluff thrusts its long nose 



EaggedLake. 81 

seaward, while just beyond a \vild lagoon winds far 
inland, now broad and again growing narrower, until 
it terminates in a shady cavern, the roof of which is 
composed of the branches of tall trees lovingly inter 
twined, forming an arbor of the densest shade, 
and most refreshing coolness. Here a sandy beach, 
shining in the sunlight, along which the little waves 
ripple, and from which the deer-paths wind away 
among the willows and alders that skirt it. Here, a 
sudden and bold descent in the bottom, leaving above 
it waters of unknown depths, in which the lake-trout 
makes his home. There a bar stretches far out from 
the shore, upon which rushes and the tall grasses 
grow, and further still the brilliant pond-lily glistens 
in its pure whiteness, like a star resting on the bosom 
of the waters. To the south-west Mount Lyon rears 
his tall head to the clouds ; standing like a gigantic 
sentinel overlooking forest and lake, and watching in 
moveless silence the wilderness around him. 

But few sportsmen have ever penetrated to this 
lake, and its waters swarm with trout. They have 
never learned to beware of the "%," nor been taught 
to distrust the perilous hook. In their simplicity they 
take feathers and silk for the gadflj^, and the miller, 



32 Hills AND Lakes. 

and the worm, coiled upon jonr liook, for a genuine 
wanderer irom tLe bogs of tlie marsliy bank. " Here 
they are born, grow great, and die," undisturbed and 
and unpersecuted by the sportsman. 

We found the deer, too, more numerous than we 
had seen them before. Long ere the night shadows 
had gathered around us, we saw them steahng out 
from the thickets that skirted the lake. They would 
walk stealthily and warily into the water, and after 
stooping their graceful necks to drink, would swim 
away, as if to indulge a cooling bath and saturate 
their '*red coats" with water, and then return to feed 
quietly by the shore, secure alike from the annoyance 
of insects and the heat of a summer sun. In the 
night, we went out among them with a light in the 
bow of our canoe, and the number we frightened 
^' into fits" was not small. From their actions, I infer 
that our features were by no means pleasant to them, 
for the moment they caught sight of our faces, they 
ran off with a speed that a race -horse might envy. 
Our visit will long be remembered by them. The 
story will go down "to their children, and their chil- 
dren's children," as the epoch of the advent of strange 
monsters, who came among them in the night to 



Ragged Lake. 33 

frigliten tlieir fathers from their jDropriety, but to our 
credit it will be told, that we left them unharmed, save 
by the terrors of our transient presence. We returned 
to our shantee, and fell asleep under the lullaby of 
nature's midnight serenade. 

The next day we coasted the lake, to explore its 
hundred quiet and secluded nooks. We found that 
in the little bays, at the heads of which the mountain 
streams emptied their cold waters, the speckled trout 
congregated, while in the deep water, off the bold 
rocky bluffs, the lake-trout most abounded. We 
dined near the north end of the lake ; our table and 
our seat was a venerable moss-covered boulder, be- 
neath which a cold spring bubbled up, and above 
which, great maples spread their leafy branches like a 
canopy over us ; protected by a '' smudge" from the 
black fly and musquitoes, we took our siesta^ such as 
weary limbs and a hearty meal can alone give zest to. 
After luxuriating thus for a couple of hours, we 
paddled back along the opposite shore, towards our 
shantee, to spend the night. On our way we encoun- 
tered numerous broods of the wood-duck, whose 
wings were as yet unfledged, but which, under the 

guardian care of the mother, skimmed away from us, 

2* 



34 Hills AND Lakes. 

and liid tliemselves among the weeds and willows 
along the shore. 

. We "lay to" under the cool shadow of a huge fir 
tree that leaned out from the rocks, to rest awhile 
from our labor, and to enjoy the beauty of the scenery 
around us. I had just lighted a Havanna, and was 
giving its ''perfume to the breeze," when, from a 
point just ahead of us, we saw a fine deer step into 
the lake, and after stooping his head to drink, wade 
forward and strike out, apparently for the opposite 
shore. It avouM seem that he preferred swimming 
across, to a journey around the lake. We waited 
until he had got so far from the shore that we could 
cut him off from returning to it, and then put out in 
chase of him. The lake was entirely calm ; not a 
ripple disturbed its glassy surface, save the long wake 
in the rear of the deer himself Hearing the sound 
of our paddles, he turned his head and discovered us. 
For a moment he seemed to hesitate as to what course 
to take ; he looked first in one direction, then in 
another, as if to ascertain the surest point of escape. 
We were now between him and the shore, and he 
struck boldly forward. Our vessel was a clumsy as 
well as a frail one, and we gained on him but slowly, 



A Deer Chase. 35 

— still Ave did gain on him. When the chase began, 
he was some thirty rods in advance of us, swimming 
for dear life towards the nearest point on the opposite 
shore, some half a mile or more distant. 

It was no boy's play to overtake that deer. In 
the excitement of the race, however, we forgot the 
labor, and burning heat of the sun, — we took no heed 
to the big drops of sweat that chased each other down 
our faces, as we pulled with might and main after 
him. Yet we had no thought of taking his life, — that 
we might easily have done, for my loaded rifle lay in 
the bottom of our little craft. Our object was a trial 
of speed, to witness his wild affright, and his desperate 
efforts to escape our pursuit. Well, we pulled steadily 
after him ; a stern chase is said to be a long chase, 
bat when we were two-thirds of the way across the 
lake, our canoe was at his tail. Had Aye been less ex- 
cited, it AYOuld have seemed to us cruel to witness the 
agony of his fright. He Avould plunge forward witli 
an effort that would raise him half out of the water, 
and then settle down again desperately to his work. 
With a look of horrible wildness, and nostrils dis- 
tended, he struggled forward. Once we shouted a 
wild halo I as our canoe touched him, and the poor 



36 Hills and Lakes. 

animal; regarding himself as lost, bleated out in tlie 
extremity of liis terror. Still lie pressed iic/jly for- 
ward, OTir canoe in fierce and hot pursuit^ uj.til his 
hoofs touched the bottom, then the chase ^.yar. up ; a 
few desperate leaps brought him to the bes^h^ Lad he 
plunged triumphantly into his native wiida. We 
heard his long bounds, and the crashing of the dry 
brush growing fainter and fainter, until the / were lost 
in the distance, and all was still again. I'hat deer 
will remember us to his dying day, — nor shall we 
soon forget him. There were few dry thieads in our 
garments when the chase was ended, and they were 
not wet by the waters of the lake. Our acquaintance, 
like many that are formed in this life, though brief, 
was impressive. 

"Slowly," but not '* sadly," we paddled back to 
our brush shantee, and wMe the sun seemed hanging 
like a lantern in the tops of the forest trees., we sat 
down to our supper. 

We were too weary that night to distiirb the deer, 
and we retired early to our boughs ; we had to renew 
our smudge every hour to keep off the insects that 
" revel in human blood." There was little danger of 
sur neglecting this duty, for as the smoke ceased, the 



Sleeping in the Forest. 87 

tiny trumpet of the musquitoe sounded in our ears, 
and the sting of his puny spear admonislied us to re- 
plenish the fire. 

Few men can sleep late in the forest, especially 
among those little accustomed to 

"A lodge in some vast wilderness." 

The change from the solemn dirge of the night, to the 
gay joyous song of the morning, — as note after note 
chimes in, to welcome the rising day, is too exhil- 
arating to allow of the continuance of slumber. 

We were up before the sun the next morning. A 
plunge in the lake from a point of rocks near ou) 
shantee, dissipated the lassitude that hung upon us 
and a few throws of the fly provided us a breakfast oi 
trout. 



IV. 



Indian L&ek. — The Grotj-nd Cedar and the FAWiT. — The Lak2 
Trout — The Catamaran — The Owls 



Having broken our fast, we took iip onr line of 
marcli for Indian Lake, another beautiful sheet of 
water, some eight miles deeper in the wilderness. 
Were it not for the constant change of objects and 
scenery, such a tramp would be anything but pleas- 
ant. But new sights and new sounds, new birds and 
new songs, too, are constantly occurring, so that the 
excitement of novelty robs travel of much of its 
weariness. Still it requires some nerve on a hot day, 
to measure miles in the forest, by the repetition of 
footsteps. It is a thing to be considered, and one wlio 
sees no charm in a forest life, who hears no music in 
the wild notes of the birds, and the sighing of the 
breezes among the leaves of the greenwood, whose ear 
vs deaf to the voice of the running brook, had better 



The Gtrouxd-Cedar. 39 

leave it alone. It will interfere witli his comfort. 
We went trudging along, stumbling over boulders 
and roots, scrambling over buge logs, and around the 
tojDS of fallen trees, for an hour or more, when we 
came to a patch of table land, slightly elevated above 
the surrounding country. It was comparatively bare 
of underbrush, and had upon it but few trees of a 
larger growth. This opening contained perhaps four 
or five acres, and was covered with short coarse grass 
and weeds, with here and there a clump of what my 
guide termed gTound-cedar. This shrub grows from ' 
a single stem, as large perhaps as a man's arm, from 
which branches spread out along upon, or a few 
inches from, the ground, to a distance of from six to 
ten feet, so that one of these shrubs will extend over 
a circle from ten to twenty feet in diameter, present- 
ing an evergreen surface of dense foliage, and at no 
place over twelve inches from the ground. I was ex- 
amining one of these, when I discovered two beauti- 
fully bright and soft eyes, peering through the inter- 
twined branches at me. I was at first startled, but 
upon examination found them to belong to a fawn, 
that had been hid away by its dam beneath the 
ground-cedar. It was a beautiful little animal, as 



40 Hills AKD Lakes. 

large perhaps as a lamb of a week old. Its color was 
a light red, bordering on yellow, dotted with a multi- 
tude of dark spots, of the size of a shilling. Its limbs 
were delicately and beautifully formed, and its whole 
structure presented an appearance of peculiar lightness 
and agility. There it lay, snug in its hiding-place, as 
if unconscious that one of the greatest enemies of its 
race was gazing upon it. It is a peculiar instinct of 
the fawn, while yet young, to remain in the hiding- 
place in AYhich it is placed by its dam, even though 
danger and death approach it. It did not offer t~ stir, 
as I lifted it from its bed of leaves, and held it in my 
arms, without a struggle on its part, or any attempt at 
escape. After examining it a few minutes, I placed it 
quietly in its bed again, and passed on. As we 
entered the woods, we noticed the white flag of the 
mother, as she bounded in a circle round us, towards 
where her little one had been secreted. She had 
doubtless been watching us as we stood by the spot, 
and' was hastening back to see if her treasure had 
been stolen. 

"We reached Indian Lake about noon, and erected 
our shantee for the night. Finding no materials for 
constructing a boat, we proceeded to make a raft, 



Constructing a Eapt. 41 

wMch should serve as a substitute. In this we found 
but little difficulty. On the eastern shore, tall fir 
trees of all sizes may be found, many of which are 
dead, or as the woodmen term it, dry. These are ex- 
ceedingly light and buoyant, and four or five of them, 
of the diameter of eight or ten inches at the butt, and 
some twenty -five feet in length, laid side by side in 
the water, and properly fastened together by cross- 
pieces pinned to them, will easily float the weight of 
two men. My guide, with his axe and augur, soon 
succeeded in constructing such a raft, upon which we 
fashioned a rude bench at each end, on which to sit. 
Having provided ourselves with setting poles, we 
shoved into the lake. Here, as elsewhere, we found 
no difficulty in supplying ourselves with trout. We 
poled along the margin of the lake, until in rounding 
a rocky promontory, we found ourselves suddenly in 
water too deep for the length of our poles. A breeze, 
not very strong to be sure, was blowing from the 
shore, and our raft, under its impulse, put out for the 
centre of the lake. Having no paddles, and being 
unable to control our raft, we were forced to see our- 
selves floating away towards the opposite shore, three- 
fourths of a mile distant. Patience was the remedy 



42 Hills AKD Lakes. 

for this involuntary voyage, and as v/e were in no 
linrry, having no notes to pay by a given hour, nor 
railroad station to reach by a given minute, we re- 
signed ourselves to our fate, and floated quietly on. I 
had a long line, such as is used in trolling, and we 
amused ourselves by sounding the depth of the lake. 
"We found it varying from thirty to some eighty feet. 
When near the centre of the lake it occurred to me, 
that perhaps in the deep water the great trout,' — the 
aristocratic portion of the finny tribe, might hold their 
court. Do you remember that in one of Cooper's 
novels, I can't tell which, the old fisherman of the 
Otsego discourses about the patriarch of the salmon- 
trout, the old " mossy back," the largest and cunning- 
est trout in all the lake, — the "Sockdolager," as he 
called him? Well, I thought of the "Sockdolager," 
and that it might be, that just beneath me, he of the 
Indian Lake might be reposing ; so I fastened a small 
trout I had caught near the shore, to the large liook 
at the end of ni}' trolling-line, and having fastened 
several bullets to the line by way of sinker, threw out. 
It had scarcely reached to the depth of sixty feet, 
when I felt a jerk, which the fisherman knows is not 
made by any of the " small fry." Hand over hand I 



Sailing THE Raft. 48 

hauled in, wliile whatever Vv^as at the other end of the 
line, pulled and jerked in a way that proved him to 
be anything but willing to approach the surface. 
Being the stronger, of course I had my way, and in a 
few moments a trout weighing some six pounds, 
"flopped with a jerk upon our raft. A knock on the 
head with a stick stilled him, and I had one of the 
genuine " sockdolagers" of the Indian Lake as my 
captive. 

In the course of an hour we had floated across the 
lake, and landed on a sandy beach. Here w^e found 
numerous tracks of the deer, and the paths, which led 
away into the forest, indicated that the water was 
much frequented by them. We followed a small 
stream that entered the lake, in the hope of finding a 
spring of cold water. In this we were not disap- 
pointed, for a few rods from the shore we found 
a beautiful fountain, bubbling up from beneath a 
gnarled and ancient birch. A cup of this, with a 
sprinkling of old Cogniac, was exceeding comfortable 
just then. 

Our catamaran, though well enough before the 
wind, was not a thing upon which we could beat up 
against it, and we had at least two miles of polling to 



44 Hills and Lakes. 

get back to our sliantee. This we accomplished in aa 
many hours. When we came to the promontory 
from which we took our forced voyage across the 
lake, my guide went ashore, and peeling long strips 
of bark from the saplings, fastened them together, 
thus making a towing-line of suf&cient length and 
strength, and fastening one end to the raft, with the 
other in his hand, he swam round the point of rocks. 
Having gained terra firma^ he hauled in upon the line, 
and thus towed the raft round the point, myself keep- 
ing it off the rocks with my pole. We were weary 
enough to sleep soundly that night. It must have been 
past midnight when we were startled from our slum- 
ber by a terrific scream which sounded at no great 
distance from us. My first thought in the bewilder- 
ment of the moment, was that the house was on fire, 
or that robbers had invaded our dwelling. We sat 
up, with our eyes wide open, staring at each other, 
when again that terrific scream sounded directly over 
us, while scream after scream seemed to answer from 
every direction around us. An indescribable feeling 
of terror crept over me, and if the truth must be told, 
my hand was none of the steadiest, as I reached for 
my rifle. I did reach for it, and, as I grasped it, made 



ADeerLeap. 45 

up my mind to die game. Again sounded tliat awful 
scream, and again was it answered from every point 
of the compass, as if all the demons of i:he woods were 
in concert in the horrible din. 

" Cuss the owls," said my guide, as he opened his 
mouth, in a gape like the entrance of a railroad tunnel. 

" Who's afraid," said I, as I stretched out again 
upon my bed of boughs for sleep. 

Before the sun rose in the morning, we plunged 
into the lake for a bath, from the rocky promontory, 
from which on the previous day, we started on our 
involuntary cruize across the lake. While perform- 
ing our ablutions, we noticed a deer, some quarter of 
a mile or more from us, feeding along the margin of 
the lake. I took my rifle, stole cautiously to within 
some twenty rods of him, and resting over a log, 
fired. He was standing in the edge of the water, di- 
rectly beneath a rocky bank, three or four feet in 
height. As my rifle cracked, he leaped at a single 
bound upon the bank and then back again, some ten 
feet into the water, dead. The ball had gone through 
iiis heart, and how he could have made two such des- 
perate leaps, when thus fatally wounded, was and still 
is to me, a mystery. 



46 Hills AND Lakes. 

After having breakfasted, we fashioned a pair of 
rude oars, and contrived to work tliem on our cata- 
maran. We had no disposition to float across the 
lake again, and perhaps be becalmed half a mile from 
the shore, for hours. However, the wind rising, we 
hoisted a sail, bj holding a bush erect, with the butt 
end in an augur hole in one of the logs. This floated 
us across, and from the opposite shore we started on 
a coasting voyage round the lake. I sunk ray line in 
the deep water, and caught another of the large deni* 
zens of the lake. 

It is a singular fact, that, so far as I could dis- 
cover, the trout was the only species of fish in this, 
or Eagged Lake. No sunfish, chub, shiner, perch, or 
any of the other kinds, so common in the fresh waters 
of the country. We thought we could designate, 
however, three different kinds of trout. A small 
lightish gray one, that seemed to lurk close under the 
rocks, where the banks were steep and bluff. These 
had a few specks upon them, of a dingy brown, like 
freckles on the face of a fair-skinned girl. Near the 
mouths of the cold brooks, we found the genuine 
speckled trout in great numbers, congregated there as 
if to enjoy the coolness of the mountain streams. 



Indian Lake. 47 

Then, in the deep water in the middle of the lake, 
were the lake trout, varying in size from two to eight, 
and possibly ten pounds. The ease and readiness 
with which all these were taken, robbed the fishing 
somewhat of its romance, for a few minutes would 
supply us with all we needed, and to destroy more for 
the mere sport of taking them, seemed like a wanton 
abuse of the good gifts of Grod. 

Near the south end of the lake is a rocky point, 
bending round in the shape of a crescent, and forming 
within the curve a little bay of deep water, containing 
perhaps a quarter of an acre. At the end of this bay, 
a stream, not large, but exceedingly cold, empties it- 
self. This little bay literally swarmed with the 
speckled trout. Standing on a rock a few feet from 
the shore, I threw my fly. The moment it struck the 
water, a dozen greedy and hungry fish rose to the 
surface, and followed in the wake of the one I hooked 
towards the shore. The least agitation, like the light- 
ing of an insect on the water, would cause them to 
rush to the spot; a twig thrown upon the surface 
would collect a school of them where it fell. It was 
little sport to catch them, but it was a rich thing to 
know they were thei^e. I amused mysfelf in cheating 



48 Hills AND ijAKES. 

the silly things in the way that was fun to one, while 
it onlj subjected them to disappointment* I broke 
off the hook from one of my flies, and threw for half 
an hour among them. They got no supper to be 
sure, but they were very industrious trying for it, and 
I have no doubt it was a great mystery to them why 
they did not succeed. 

Indian Lake is a circular sheet of water, some five 
or six miles in circumference. Like all the other 
lakes in this wilderness, it has many beauties. All 
around is a dense forest of old primeval trees. On 
one side, willows and alders skirt the shore, from 
which, grasses, and rushes, and pond-lilies extend far 
into the lake, while on the other bold rocky bluffs 
bound the waters, against which the mimic waves rip- 
ple. Occasionally a pebbly beach extends from point 
to point, while many little bays nestle quietly behind 
jutting promontories. 

We coasted the lake on our raft that day, and re- 
turned to our shantee in the evening. We supped on 
venison and trout, and laid ourselves away on our 
bed of boughs. 



A Tbout-stream. — Partridges --The Fisher. — Naming a Lake.' 
A Thunder-storm in the Forest — Meachali's Lake. 



In the morning we started south, towards the 
Sarrnac Lakes. We left our shantee on the shore, 
and our catamaran in the water, for any who should 
come after us. Let no man who loves dry feet, em- 
bark on such a water craft. While the sportsman, so 
far as we are concerned, is welcome to it wherever he 
may find it, yet we tell him frankly, that unless he 
builds some addition to it, he will find that, while it 
carries him safely, it will introduce much moisture to 
his boots. 

We had a long journey before us this day, as our 
design was to reach Meacham's Lake, som^e sixteen 
miles in the wilderness. Travelling west on a town- 
ship line of marked trees for about three miles, we 

struck a blind kind of path, running south along an- 

3 



50 Hills and Lakes. 

other towiisliip line, which we followed until after 
twelve o'clock. Our stock of provisions had run low. 
Sea bisciiitj a little salt porkj some salt, pepper and 
tea, was all we had left. Of venison we had none^ 
and relying upon otir daily forage for our daily food, 
for the first time found ourselves hungry, without flesh 
or fish to allay it. "We had crossed no stream for 
miles, and regretted that we had not been more provi- 
dent of our commissary department, before starting in 
the morning. However^ this we knew, that a country 
built like the one we were in, must ere long furnish 
us with a stream, and we knew, too, that we should 
find trout, wherever we should find water sufficient 
for them to swim in. We travelled on, until our ears 
were gladdened b}^ the sound of a running stream, and 
a beautiful stream it was too. It came laughing and 
dancing over rocks, frisking around the trunks of 
fallen trees, and whirling away under banks, in all the 
wantonness of unrestrained freedom. I dropped my 
fly quietly by the roots of a tree that had been under- 
mined and fallen across the stream, when it was in- 
stantly seized, and a trout weighing near a quarter of 
a pound, was tumbling upon the bank. Another 
and another followed, until enough were caught foi 



Shooting Parteidges. 51 

our dinner. Upon gathering them np^ and turning 
towards the spot where I had left my guide, I saw him 
with my rifle in his hand, walking around, and look- 
ing into the branches of a half-grown hemlock, whis- 
tling all the time most furiously. Presently I saw him 
taking aim at some object in the tree. He fired, and 
down tumbled a partridge. He fell to loading again, 
all the time whistling most vociferously. Again he 
fired, and again a partridge fell from among the 
branches. 

'' Halloa ! old fellow," said I, " that will do. Fish 
and fowl will answer for a dinner for hungry men, — > 
so leave the rest, if there's more of them there." A 
fire was soon struck, and in half an hour we sat down 
to a dinner which, with our appetites, an epicure 
might well envy. 

" Look here. Tucker," said I, while stowing away 
a leg of partridge, "tell me why you kept up such a 
confounded whistling, while you were looking for 
those birds in the tree." 

*'It was to keep them from fly in' away," he re- 
plied. " Off here in the woods, they ain't so shy as 
they are down in the settlements ; and when they 
take to a tree, so long as you keep up a sharp whis- 



52 Hills anb Lakes. 

tlin', a partridge will sit still within fifteen feet of yotu 
You may shoot half a dozen from the same tree, pro* 
vided there's so many there, and you keep on whistlin'." 
■ *' That's something new," said I, " and all I've got 
t6 say about it is, that if they're charmed by such 
music, they have a delicate ear and a singular taste." 

There are two things that I advise every sports- 
man to do, after a hearty meal in the woods, on a hot 
summer's day. The first is, to smoke a segar or pipe, 
if he has one ; and the other is, to seek some cool 
shade, and gather a bed of dry leaves, and spreading 
his handkerchief from the rim of his hat, to keep off 
the musquitoes and blackfly, lay himself quietly down 
to sleep for an hour. A longer time will debilitate, 
and a less time will not rest him. Ten minutes, more 
or less, will make no great difference ; but if called 
upon to choose either, let him be sure to decide in 
favor of more. 

Having dined, and enjoyed our siesta^ we travelled 
on. "We diverged from our direct route, to visit a 
small pond in the south-east corner of the township of 
Duane. This pond contains perhaps two hundred 
acres, and was without a name, so far as I know. Its 
waters are clear, and colder than those of the other 



A Fish Hawk. 53 

lakes we had visited. A small stream enters from the 
nortli-east, about midway of the length of the lake. 
At the mouth of this stream, the water is deep, and a 
bay of some four or five rods in width by twenty in 
length, puts up. At the head of this bay I threw my 
fly. It was instantly seized by a trout weighing near 
half a pound. The paths along the banks show that 
it was a place of resort for game. There were in 
patches, extending from the shore in many places, 
grasses and pond-lilies growing in the water ; broken 
fragments of the latter, floating upon the surface, gave 
evidence that this was a rich pasture for the deer. 

As we sat upon the bank, a fish hawk came across 
the lake, and alighted upon the branch of a dry tree, 
leaning out from the shore, some forty or fifty rods 
from us. After pluming himself for a short time, he 
soared out over the lake, and pausing in mid air, and 
remaining stationary for nearly half a minute, he 
dropped suddenly like an arrow upon the water. In 
a moment he rose, with a fish of apparently a pound 
or more in weight, in his talons, and with his prey 
struggling in his grasp, flew away across the lake, and 
alighted upon a rock, to devour it. 

Having rested ourselves, we were about starting 



54 Hills AND Lakes. 

on our journey, wlien on tlie opposite side of the 
little bay, we saw an animal wliicTi tliough not un- 
common in these wild regions, I had not yet seen. It 
is called the Fisher. Its weight may be that of a fox. 
Its legs are shorter than those of that animal, while 
its body and neck are much longer. Its form is like 
that of the mink. Its color is a dark brown, ap- 
proaching to black. He was moving cautiously along 
the margin of the water, stopping, from time to time, 
to look around him. As he passed behind a large 
boulder, I raised my rifle, and as he again emerged 
into sight, I fired at and killed him. The head of the 
bay was marshy, and my guide, after divesting him- 
self of his clothes, plunged into the water to swim 
across. He had not calculated upon its coldness, for 
as he plunged in, he sighed and blowed like a por- 
poise. Being a man of nerve, however, he swam over 
and brought the animal to our side of the bay. The 
fur of the Fisher is fine and valuable. Its skin is 
worth from three to five dollars, depending upon the 
season of the year in which it is taken. We took 
the gentleman's hide as the spoils of war, and to pay 
for the trouble of shooting and skinning him. The 
death of this animal was the occasion of the christen- 



Meaciiam's Lake. 65 

ing of this sheet of water. We hewed a smooth place 
on the side of an ancient birch, and with a knife 
carved thereon in large letters, " Fisher's Lake." 
Whoever shall hereafter visit it, let him respect the 
name we gave it and speak of it accordingly. 

We arrived at the margin of Meacham's Lake, an 
hour before sunset, wayworn and weary enough. We 
found here a shantee, built of poles, and more com- 
modious than the temporary ones we had erected. 
The roof was covered with bark peeled from the 
trees the previous year, but the sun had so dried and 
warped it, that it would afford small shelter from the 
rain, if a storm should overtake us. From present 
appearances, such an event was not unlikely to occur 
during the night. The day had been exceedingly 
sultry, and a bank of dense dark clouds rested on the 
western horizon, behind which the sun was fast sink- 
ing. My guide soon peeled from the trees around us, 
bark enough to repair the roof, and procured green 
boughs for our bed. I found no difficulty in procur- 
ing fish. I also shot a brace of partridges, and a small 
gray good rabbit ; so that we were supplied with fish, 
flesh, and fowl, of the freshest and most delicate kind. 

About ten o'clock, the bank of clouds from the 



56 ' HiLLSAND Lakes. 

west had overspread tlie heavens. The lightning be- 
gan to play most vividly, illuminating both forest and 
lake for an instant, with perfect distinctness, and then 
leaving all in obscurity, impenetrable as Egyptian 
darkness. The deep voice of the thunder, growled 
and rumbled, like an earthquake, in the distance. 
A low mysterious moaning was heard in the forest 
around us, such as always precedes a storm, as if the 
old forest trees were whispering together, of the 
danger that was approaching. Louder and louder, 
grew the voice of the thunder. The lightning flashed 
and played along the surface of the lake, lighting it 
almost in a continuous blaze. Anon the pattering of 
the big drops of rain upon the forest leaves^, and upon 
the surface of the water, was heard, and in a few 
minutes the storm was upon us. The rain poured in 
torrents ; the lightnings flashed around us, while the 
booming thunders echoed among the mountains. We 
were securely sheltered, and there was sublimity in 
the warring elements around us^ In an hour the 
storm moved on. Its roar receded into silence. The 
stars looked out in their brightness and the night 
voices were again hfted up, as if rejoicing that the 
tempest had passed away. 



VI. 



MOBNIl^G IN THE WoODS. — Mt GuIDE. — A FiRST ViSIT TO TH3 

City. — A Mistake and its Consequences. 



The morning was tlie most beautiful tliat I ever 

"witnessed, — so clear, so cool and bright, and sucli 

freshness upon all things. The trees wore a brighter, 

gTecDcr mantle ; the little forest flowers, a richer hue. 

The birds sang more joyously, and even the deep 

voice of the frog had a note of gaiety in it, that it did 

not possess before. The lake was perfectly calm, not 

a ripple disturbed its waters, save where the trout 

leaped in his gleesomeness above the surface. It was 

a glorious sight, the rising of the sun that morning ; 

to see him gilding with his beams the tops of the 

mountains, while in the valley, where that lake lay 

sleej)ing, the grayness of twilight still lingered ; to see 

his light chasing the shadows down the sides of the 

mountains ; to see his rays, resting first on the tops of 
' 3^ 



58 Htlls AND Lakes. 

the tall forest trees, and tlien peering through the 
opening among the foliage, throwing bright spots Tipon 
the surface of the water, and then, as he rose above 
the brave old trees, giving his beams to wanton on the 
still bosom of the lake. 

Mj guide had spent some days at this lake, during 
the last season, and had constructed a canoe, which 
we found where he had left it, hid away among some 
bushes that grew near the shore. It required some 
caulking before being launched, but by six o'clock we 
had breakfasted, and were on the water. This lake 
is some six or seven miles in circumference. On the 
east of it are high mountains, not disposed in ranges, 
but isolated, — thrown in as it were by handfuls, by 
the great Creator. On the south, and stretching per- 
haps for miles, is a valley which many years hence, 
when the great west shall be filled up, will present 
beautiful farms, rich in agricultural products, and 
teeming with tame life. It is wild enough now. The 
voice of the forest birds, the song of the brook that flows 
along through its centre, and the sighing of the wind 
among the trees, are the only sounds that are heard. 

We pushed from the beach, and paddled leisurely 
along the shore, visiting its beautiful bays, and peer- 



My Guide. 69 

ing into its leafy grottoes, where some lovely estuary 
sliot landward among the trees. 

My guide was a philosopher in his Ava}^, as well as 
an original. His age was about forty-eight, and his 
frame was of that robust, hardy, and enduring kind, 
that is found mostly among the border men of 
our country. The refinements of society he knew 
nothing about. He had spent his life in the back 
settlements, and in the woods. He was a strong- 
minded man by nature, and a thoughtful one. And 
his solitary ramblings, his forest experience, had inade 
him a reflecting and a wise man in his way. 

He had once visited the city, and been followed by 
the boySj and pronounced green. He took an antip- 
athy to paved streets, the rurr^bling of carriages, and 
the impertinence of loafers^ and swears he will never 
go within sight or sound of a city again. He de- 
scribed to me liis journey, and his original way of 
telling his adventures amused me. " I had," said he, 
■• seen all the wonders of the woods ; I had tussled 
with the painters, and taken it rough and tumble with 
the bears; I had killed the largest catamount, and 
skinned the biggest buck of the Shatagee. I had 
slept in the woods for months. I had hunted the 



60 Hills AND Lakes. 

moose on snow-shoes in tlie winter, and been eat up 
bj the black flies and musquitoes in the summer. So, 
fifteen years ago last June, I thought I'd take a trip 
to Albany, and dispose of my spelter, and see the 
sights. I packed up my stuff, and a good lot of it I 
had too. I had all I could load in a big skiff, of furs 
and skins, and among 'em was more'n one of the 
painter and bear. I started from Plattsburgh for 
Whitehall, and let me tell you, Squire, that's a long 
road on old Champlain, to travel all alone, puUin' a 
big skiff, and when 3'ou've tried it, you'll believe its 
some. Well; after four days hard pullin', I landed at 
Whitehall ; there I got my stuff on board of a canal- 
boat, and went ahead. At West Troy I hired a canal- 
horse and a wagon, and started for Albany. I sold 
mj stuff at a profit, and then I thought I'd take a look 
at the sights. So I went gaping about, lookin' in at 
the windows of the stores, and staring at the queer 
signs, and lookin' at the carriages and the women, in 
a way that was no doubt uncommon. The boys 
got round me, and wanted to know where I was 
caught, and whether my mother knew I was out. I 
didn't mind this much, for they were too small to get 
angry with, and they didn't know any better. Pretty 



W 



A First Visit to the City. 61 

soon a full-grown, ill-lookin' j^oung man tliouglit he'd 
take a hand at the sport, and jin'd in with the boys in 
poken' fun at me. He pushed the little ones agin me, 
and wanted to know how many cubs like me, the old 
bear had at home. I'm a patient man. Squire, but 
there's some things I can't stand, — and bein' laffed at 
"without occasion, is one of 'em. So I told the young 
feller, if he'd mind his business, I'd mind mine, and 
that would make it all straight and right between us ; 
besides, if he didn't, he'd get into a fix that wouldn't 
be pleasant. The chap seemed to have grit in him, 
and squared off for a fight, but what it was to be 
about, I didn't understand any more'n the man in the 
moon. I advised him in a good natered way, to keep 
on his own side of the trail, but it didn't do SiUj good. 
He seemed to take it for granted I was scared, and 
that made him more full of fight than ever. He laid 
his hand on the collar of my old huntin' coat, and at 
a jerk tore it half off my back. Blood's blood, Squire, 
and mine was up. I wan't a baby then, and ain't 
now. That handful of bones" (said he, baring his 
brawny arm, and doubling his huge fist,) " hain't 
often been flung at a human critter, and I hope never 
will be again. But when it lighted on that fellow's 



62 Hills AND Lakes. 

face, it's my opinion he saw stars* He went over and 
over, into the middle of the street, and when he went 
down he laid stilh He hadn't any fight left in him. 
He got on to his feet at last, and staggered like a 
drunken man, I ^vas sorry I hit him so hard, but it's 
my opinion he deserved what he got. Presently a 
man walked up, and said I was wanted. ' Who be 
you,' said I. ' I'm a constable,' he replied, ' and you 
must go with me to the Perlice.' ' All right,' said I, 
'go ahead; law is lav^, and must be gin' in to.' Well, 
we went to the office, and I've a notion, Squire, that 
Justice of the Peace was an honest man, for he didn't 
seem to want to take advantage of me because I didn't 
know the ways of the Court. The feller I struck w^as 
there, and sick a face as he carried, was a sight to see. 
His nose was swelled up like a great sassenger, and 
his eyes had a long way to look, before they could see 
outside of the great puff around them. Well, he was 
called on to swear, and the way he lied agin' me, was 
a sin to hear. You'd a believed from what he said, 
that the fault was all on my side, and that he was the 
innocentest lamb that had ever been Avorried by a 
wolf I thought it all over with me, when the Squire 
asked me what I had to say. 



The Court of Justice. 63 

"'Squire,' said I, 'I'm a peaceable man, and never 
had a quarrel with a human critter but twice be- 
fore, and then I couldn't help it. I never struck a 
man but once before, and I've been sorry ever since, 
I was forced to do it. I'm a stranger to the ways of 
the city, and ma}^ be I don't act as genteel as I ought 
to. I'm a man of the back settlements, and the woods. 
I'm an honest man^ and came down on an honest 
caUin', from the Shatagee country. I meddled with 
nobody, and have been as civil as I know how to be. 
That lyin' cuss, was for imposin' on, and abusin' me. 
He has told a cussed pack of lies, from one eend to 
the other, exceptin' a single fact, which I own up to, 
because it's true. I did strike him, and I was sorrj^ 
that the blow was so hard, but since I've hearn him 
swear, I've a notion I sarved him right.' Then I told 
him the real truth, in a plain, straight forard way. 

" ' Tucker,' said he, for I told him my name, ' I 
don't doubt your story myself, for you look and talk 
like an honest man, but I can't take your statement 
agin' the oa,th of the witness.' 

" ' Squire,' said an honest lookin', blue eyed boy, 
of about twelve year old, that had followed us into 
the office, ' that man's story is every word true, for I 



64 Hills and Lakes. 

seed it all myself;' and he stepped up to the book 
and was sworn, and told the whole story, true as gos- 
pel. ' The case is dismissed,' said the Squire. I 
thanked the honest-hearted boy, that didn't like to see 
a wrong done, and the Squire thanked him too. 
Well, I harnessed up my old hoss, and started. I 
pulled up old Champlain for home, and when I set 
my foot in a city again, 'twill be after this. When I 
get into the woods I know all about things. I've trav- 
elled among 'em, and seen so many wild animals, that 
I know their natur'. The still lakes, that lay away off 
here all alone, and the streams that steal along round 
among the rocks and hills^ are like old neighbors ; I 
know them all, and I love them. I wonder, Squire, 
that more people don't, like jou, come out here into 
the v/oods, and see what God made, and as he made it. 
Why don't they get into the deep forests, among the 
tall trees, the streams, the lakes and mountains, among 
the cool shades, to hear how cheerfully the birds sing, 
and what nater' says, when she talks to herself." 

The stories of my guide Avere a source of great 
amusement to me. He had encountered every variety 
of adventure in his long experience in the woods ; 
twenty-five years of his life, had been spent among 



ABear and her Cubs. 65 

the lakes and streams, in this wild country, and it 
may well be supposed that he had seen and experi- 
enced much, the recital of which, to one unused to 
such scenes, would afford a vast deal of interest. 

" You see," said he, " Squire, that big rock," 
pointing to a boulder on the margin of the lake, about 
the size of a haystack. Against it, were piled large 
fragments of rocks, and just in the rear of it was a 
space that would form a comfortable den for a bear or 
a wolf. " Well," said he, "I had a time of it right 
there, ten years ago this summer. I'd been out here 
huntin', and one day I was paddling along by the 
shore, when what should I see friskin' about on the 
sand there, just by that rock, but two cubs about as 
black as the devil, and the size of a big cat. I knew 
the mother wasn't a great way off, and wouldn't take 
it kind of me to be medlin' with her babies, but I 
wanted them young bars, and made up my mind to 
have 'em too. They didn't seem to be at all afraid, 
but set np on their bottoms, and looked at me as I 
stepped ashore, as impudently as though I warnt 
human. I examined my rifle, and saw 'twas all right, 
and seizing one in each hand, tossed them into the 
canoe. They set up a terrible cry for such small 



66 Hills AND Lakes. 

critters, as I knew they would, and I jumped into tlie 
canoe and shoved off. I pulled their ears, and made 
'em cry out again. Presently I heard a crackling and 
crashing among the bushes, and a puffing and growl- 
ing, and I knew the old she one was coming. I was 
eight or ten rods from the shore, and as she came in 
sight, I held up one of the cubs and made it sing out. 
The old bar saw me, and her baby, and put into the 
water after me, for a fight. I let her swim to within 
about twenty or thirty feet of the canoe, and picked 
up my rifle to settle matters, and pointed it at her and 
pulled. The cussed thing snapped. Things began to 
look serious just then ; my best chance was to paddle 
for it, and Squire, the way I pulled for a few minutes 
was great — I gained on the old lady, and had time to 
prime my rifle. This time there was no mistake. As 
she came within a few yards of me I put a ball 
through her skull, and she turned over in the water 
dead. I hauled her into the canoe, and pulled back 
for the rock again. I wanted a crack at the father of 
the family, if he was about. So I waited iintil to- 
wards night. Occasionally I'd make the young ones 
squall, as a kind of notice to the old one, that he was 
wanted. Sure enough, just before sundown, in an- 



The Bear H l^ n t . 67 

swer to the cry of the cubs, clown came the old he 
one, angry as anything, and full of fight as a mad 
dog. I pulled the ears of the little cub, and he cried 
out again, and in plunged the old fellow after me. I 
settled him too, with a rifle ball, and then pulled 
ashore for the night. I knew there were no more 
bars there, and the cubs and I, slept very well in the 
nest behind the rocks. I did a good thing that trip ; 
I got nine dollars apiece for the skins, and twenty dol- 
lars for the cubs. They were hungry enough, when 
I got home, but they soon got over it, and were gentle 
and playful as kittens. I took 'em down to Platts- 
burgh, and sold 'em to a man from Montreal." 

We landed by the rock, and he pointed out to me, 
the place where he had slept with his cubs. It was a 
proper place for the lair of bruin, and had we not al- 
ready a comfortable dwelling, would have made no 
bad resting place for us. 



\II. 



The deserted Hut. — Hunting on the Ceust. — Fobest Justic] 

ADMINISTERED BY A HuNTER. A CaPTIVE AND ITS RELEASE. 



From the top of tliis rock, we liad a view of tlie 
whole lake — a small pocket telescope brought every- 
thing close to me. We saw several deer, feeding 
along the margin, in different directions, and some 
half a mile down the lake, we saw one swimming 
across to the opposite shore. We saw numerous 
broods of wild ducks, sporting in the water, now 
diving and again skimming along the surface, in play- 
ful gyrations round the careful mother. As we were 
watching one of these broods, in a little bay some 
fifteen rods from us, we saw them at a signal, which 
we heard from the mother, dart suddenly from sight, 
among the flags and rushes, while she, too, hastened 
to conceal herself. We saw the cause of this alarm, 
in a large bald eagle, that came soaring majetjtically 



A Secluded Bay. 60 

over tlie lake. This king of birds makes prey of tlie 
waterfowl, and liere in the solitudes of the wilderness, 
he is the only enemy they have to encounter. The 
price of their security, is unsleeping vigilance, and 
were one of these broods to leave the shelter of the 
shore, the chances of their return would be none of 
the surest. We passed into a little bay, that shot 
round and hid. as it v/ere, behind a rocky point, to 
prepare dinner. This bay may have contained half 
an acre, and was so completely secluded, that without 
searching for us, hundreds may have coasted the lake, 
without our being discovered. 

We landed, and while my guide was building a 
fire, I threw my fly. It was no trouble to procure a 
supply of fish. Among these lakes, there is no need 
of laying by a supply for the next meal. Build 3^our 
fire, and five minutes will suffice to furnish the trout. 
We had a venison steak, stowed away among green 
boughs at the bottom of our dug-out. We dined 
right sumptuously that day, and stretched ourselves 
for our siesta. In an hour, we shot out from the little 
bay, and paddled on. We caught some small fish 
near the shore, and moved towards the centre of the 
lake, to see if there were large trout in the deep water. 



70 Hills AND Lakes. 

The experiment was successful. I drew up three 
from about sixty feet down, in a few minutes. We 
returned to the shore, and passed on in our coasting 
voyage. On the north-west bank, we came to a small 
cleared spot, where once had stood the hut of a Cana- 
dian half-breed, as they are termed. It had rotted 
down, many years before, and the rank grass, weeds, 
and bushes, occupied the spot, where imagination 
pictured his little garden. It was only imagination, 
for unless the half of an acre of potatoes and beans, 
may be called a garden, he never had one. The half- 
breed, that is half French and half Indian, is a deteri- 
oration of both branches of the ancestral tree. He 
has all the laziness of the Indian, so far as work is 
concerned, with none of his industry, ingenuity, and 
perseverance in the chase. He lives by fishing, trap- 
ping, and basket-making. The muskrat and mink, 
and the skins of the deer, taken on the crust, furnish 
him with a scanty supply of clothing, groceries, and 
breadstuffs. He spends his summers and sometimes 
his winters, by these lakes in the deep forest. Three 
or four times a year, he shoulders a pack of furs, and 
with his wife and children, goes out to the settlements, 
to dispose of his wares, and procure such articles as go 



A Canadian Half-beeed. 71 

to make up his absolute necessaries. He encamps on 
tlie borders of civilization, for a few weeks, making 
and peddling baskets, and then puts back to his cabin 
by the lakes. He has two or three dogs, with which 
he drives the deer into the lakes, and catches them 
with his canoe in the summer, and with which he 
destroys them on the crust in the winter, a manner of 
taking them which every true hunter holds in pro- 
found abhorrence. He is a stupid, lazy, shiftless 
specimen of humanity, without skill or sagacity in 
any department of a woodman's life. 

'^ Squire," said my guide, as we approached the 
spot where the cabin of the half-breed once stood, 
" the fellow that owned this clearin' has been gone a 
great many years, and it was a drubbin' I gave him 
that scared him away. He was meaner'n pusley, and 
the way I made him understand my feelins' in regard 
to him, was this: I and old Pete Meigs" (of whom 
more hereafter) " had been down by the Saranac 
Lakes, beatin' up a moose pen. We got four moose 
that time, which is more'n was got at any one time, by 
any hunters ever I hearn tell on. Well, we were 
travellin' home on our snow-shoes. This pond lay in 
our way, and we crossed it down by where our shan- 



72 Hills AND Lakes. 

tee now stands. "We had a shantee there then, and 
we calculated to put up there for the night. There 
had been a bit of a thaw, and it had rained the day 
before, but the wind chopped round to the north, and 
froze everything as tight as beeswax. The crust was 
sharp as a knife, and would almost bear a man. We 
got to our shantee, and started a fire, when what 
should we hear but the dogs of that blasted half-breed, 
yelping like death, in pursuit of something. On they 
came, right by the shantee, with a big buck close be* 
fore them. It had been a tough winter in the woods, 
and the poor beast was nothing but skin and bones. 
Every leap he took was marked by his blood, as the 
sharp crust tore the flesh on his legs. I was mad 
enough to see it, I tell you. Well, just by the edge 
of the lake, the dogs pulled down and throttled the 
poor critter. I knew very well who they belonged to, 
and I'd a great mind to give 'em a taste of my rifle ; 
but then I remembered 'twas their nater, and they 
wan't to blame. So I waited, and when the dogs had 
killed the deer, they sat down beside it, and began to 
howl, as if callin' theu' master to come and finish their 
dirty work. Sure enough, in a little while, along 
came the cussed half-breed on his snow-shoes, and fell 



The Canadian's Exit. 73 

to skinnin' the deer. He was a miserable, stunted 
critter, too lazj to carry a gun, and wouldn't know 
how to use it if he had one. He was hunting the deer 
merely for their skins, and was killin' about a dozen a 
day on the ci'ust. Everything about them critters is 
mongrel. He's a half-breed, and his wife's a half- 
breed ; his children, if he has any, are half-breed. 
His dogs are half-breed. Whatever he has about him. 
is half-and-half. He's only half civilized, and v/hcn 
he Vfas made up, there was at least one Ingen and one 
white man spiled. 

" Well, I took the sneakin' cuss by the neck, and 
the way I lathered him with my leather belt, was a 
thing to stand out of the way of. He yelled louder'n 
his hounds could bay. I gave him a hoist in the stern 
with my boot, tliat sent him aboiLt a dozen yards into 
a snow drift. 'There,' 3ai i L 'y^u copper-colored 
cross between an Ingin and a French gander, be olf 
to your shantee, and if jovs dogs bark again in these 
v/oods this winter, I'll stick you through an air-hole 
in the lake. I give you till next June, to get out of 
the Shatagee woods. I shall be round thesj parts, 
and if I find you here after that, you're a gone suoker.' 

The darned fool was so frightened, that he turned pale 

4 



74 Hills AND Lakes, 

as a skewer, and believed every word I said was goS' 
pel. I hunted out this way the next season, in July, 
and sure enough the half-breed was gone ; wife, 
babies, and dogs, all had cut stick, for fear I should 
eat hiin without salt. Old Pete Meigs and I bunked 
in his cabin many a trip after that ; but it rotted down 
at last, and you see the weeds and bushes have taken 
possession of his potatoe patch. 

" I've often thought," continued my guide, " that 
man is naterally a beast of prey, bent by nater on 
fightin' with his fellow man, — ^leastwise he is ready to 
do so, on slight occasion. Now, I all'ers felt like 
pitchin' into a half-breed, or a regular Ingin, when- 
ever I met them, — more especially the half-breed ; and 
I do believe I could strangle one, on a less occasion 
than that of savin' my own life. I was bro't up in a 
human way, and was made to believe that fightin' and 
qiiarrellin', and especially killin' human things, was 
agin nater, and therefore I never harmed any of 'em, 
but that one sneakin' cuss. But I all'ers felt 'twould 
be human nater to larrup 'em wherever I met 'em, and 
'twas only because I'd been taught better, that I didn't 
do it. Edication is a great check on the nater of 
man. It's that that makes Mm better'n a half-breed, 



Catching A Fawn. 75 

and better'n a regular Ingin too; and its tliat that 
keeps his hands off of anybody he don't like." 

We spent the day in coasting this lake. We found 
abundant evidence that it was much frequented by the 
deer, in the night season. Indeed, as I stated before, 
we saw them even in the day-time feeding along the 
margin of the lake. As we rounded a wooded point, 
that extended some distance into the lake, we came 
upon a doe and two fawns, swimming in a little bay, 
into which we suddenly entered. By a vigorous pull 
we got between one of them and the shore. Terror 
was stronger in the mother than the love for her off- 
spring, and she bounded away into the forest, leaving 
them to shift for themselves. I said we cut off one of 
the fawns from the shore : after various turnings and 
windings, we succeeded in catching the little fellow, 
and taking him into our canoe. He was horribly 
frightened at first, and bleated and struggled desper- 
ately to get away ; but after a little, finding itself un- 
hurt, and that it could not escape, it seemed to resign 
itself to its fate ; its terror abated, and it lay quietly in 
my arms. After patting and fondling it in a soothing 
way, I sat it down loose between my feet in the bot* 
tom of the canoe. It made no further effort at escape, 



76 Hills and Lakes. 

but looking first up at me, and then at tlie shore, it 
bleated plaintively, as if calling its mother to come 
back. It permitted me to pat it gently, and seemed 
quieted as I stroked the soft smooth hair on its head. 
I verily believe that if I had had the means of feeding 
it, I could so have tamed it in an hour, that it would 
have followed me like a dog. But to have taken it 
away, would have been cruel, as it would only have 
starved in our company. We judged it to have been 
three or four weeks old, and it was exceedingly fat 
and strong. We put it unharmed on the shore, and 
when its "feet was on its native heath," it bounded 
leisurely away into the forest. We heard it bleat sev- 
eral times, and thought at last that we heard a distant 
answer, after which all was still. 

We procured dry bark and splinters of fatwood, 
preparatory to going out among the deer in the night. 
I have stated in a previous chapter, the manner of 
hunting deer by torch-light. We found them in 
abundance along the margin of the lake, but we did 
no more than frighten them. We still had a supply of 
venison, and after enjoying ourselves at their expense 
for a couple of hours, returned to our shantee to sleep. 



VIII. 



GOINQ ROUND THE HuDSON. — ThE PaNTHEB AND ITB CUBS. 

Forest Cookery. 



We rose before the sun. The morning was calm 
and pleasant. A gray mist, tliin and transparent, 
hung over the lake and crept slowly np the side of 
the hill. A loon was pluming himself a few rods 
from the shore, and at intervals^ lifting up his clarion 
voice, that echoed like a bugle among the mountains. 
We bathed and breakfasted, and once more embarked 
for a cruise round the lake. 

" Pete Meigs," said Tucker, as we paddled leisurely 
along, " was some in his day. He was an old man in 
years, five and twenty year ago, but he was a wood- 
man to the last. He killed a ten pronger, a fortnight 
afore he died, and shot him through the head at 
twenty rod. He dried up like a mullen stalk, and 
died without the aid of a doctor. I helped to bury 



78 Hills AND Lakes. 

him under a great maple, on the banks of the Shata- 
gee, and the only land I ever paid for, is four rods 
square around his grave, I gave a ten dollar bear 
skin for that, and I've told my children to see that the 
old maple remains undisturbed, over the old man's 
resting place. I buried him seven years ago, and 
when the summer comes, I miss my old comrade of 
the woods. It's lonesome on the hills now. I miss 
the old man's huntin' stories and his knowin' ways. 
I can't go alone after the moose in the winter, and 
somehow I don't fancy huntin' them with anybody 
else. He knowed all about the critters. Huntin' 
them came kind a nateral to him, and I used to think 
he could smell a moose, as ffir as the critter could 
smell him." "It Avas curious," continued he, "how old 
Pete and I took to one another, and while he was old 
enough to be my grandfather, he always wanted me 
along, when he took to the woods. I mind once we 
was down the Hudson, below the falls, where they 
take people across the river in a boat. We had'nt 
sixpence between us, and the ferryman would' nt carry 
us over short of a shillin'. We had our rifles, new 
ones they were too. Our business down, had been 
to buy 'em at Saratoga, and that's what had taken 



(joing round the Hudson. 79 

our money. We had all the fixens, and were put- 
ting out for the Shatagee. 'Joe,' said old Pete, to 
me, ' let's go round the darned river, and cheat the 
blasted Ingen out of his shillin'.' ' AgTeed,' says I, 
and the ferryman grinned when he saw us move up 
stream. We started for the sources of the Hudson, 
and we went round the river. We were five weeks 
away up among the Adirondack mountains. That's 
a wild country for you, Squire. If you want to see 
mountains piled up, and valleys scooped out, and 
lakes, and ponds, and streams, and trout, and deer, 
and bear, and a sprinklin' of painters, and catamounts, 
do as old Pete Meigs and I did — go round the 
Hudson. 

" I mind one day we came to an old baldheaded 
mountain, standing all alone by itself, liftin' its top 
high above the clouds, and defy in' the storms that 
beat against its rugged sides. Old Pete proposed, that 
he go round it one way, and I the other, and meet 
on the opposite side. It warn't like going round a 
haystack, 'Squire, you may believe. It was five good 
miles around, and a smart chance of breaking your 
neck in the bargain, over the loose rocks that had 
tumbled down the side of the mountain. Well, I had 



80 Hills AND Lakes. 

travelled for an hour, round the base of the hill, when 
I came to the edge of a ravine, across which m}^ way 
lay. It was a deep gully worn down by a stream, 
when the freshets swelled it into a torrent ; on each 
side of it, at the place where I stood, were perpen- 
dicular rocks from twenty to sixty feet high. This 
made me alter my course, and go either above or be- 
low, in order to cross over. As I stood leaning 
against a great pine, I heard a growlin' and snarlin' 
sort of a noise, and lookin' across the gulf, I saw on 
the opposite side, two painters busy in devourin' the 
carcass of a deer they had caught. It was, may be, 
twenty rods in a straight line, from where I stood, to 
the place where they were at work. Now painters 
are like cats in their nater, and manner of feedin'. 
They had each torn off a limb of the deer, and lay 
stretched out on their bellies, eatin' and growlin', not 
with anger as it seemed to me, but with satisfaction at 
havin' a pleasant breakfast. I drew up by the side 
of the old pine, and sighted carefully at the head of 
one of the kritters and pulled away. I made a good 
shot that time, for the ball went right through his 
brain. He made a convulsive spring, and rolled over, 
and over, kickin' and tearin' the earth, till he tumbled 



The Panthers. 81 

down the rocks some fifty feet into the gulf be )W. 
As I fired, I stepped behind the tree again to load, I 
warn't an hour loadin' that time, 'Squire, as you nay 
guess, and I warn't in such a hurry as not to do it 
sure, either. Well, I peaked out from behind my tree, 
and there was the other varmint, walkin' and lookin' 
around mighty oneasy like. He didn't seem to un- 
derstand the matter at all. He hadn't discovered me, 
and it seemed as though he was astonished at the 
conduct of liis mate. He would snuff the ground, 
and creep carefully down to the edge of the precipice, 
and look over, as if wondering what had possessed 
the other to plunge into such an infernal hole. He 
was evidently displeased with such conduct. The 
hair on his back was up, like that of an angry dog, 
and I wasn't sorry that he did'nt see me, and that 
there was a gulf between us. After walkin' round, and 
lashing himself with 'his long tail, he set down on his 
haunches, and looked towards where I was standing. 
His breast was towards me, and I sighted him by the 
side of the tree long and sure, and pulled. You 
ought to have seen the bound he made, 'Squire. He 
was twenty good feet above the brink of the precipice, 
and I'm blamed if he didn't clear it, and go over and 



82 Hills AND Lakes. 

over, down into the gulf, and I heard him strike the 
bottom, as plain as I heard the crack of my own rifle, 
" My two shots were answered by old Pete Meigs's 
rifle, and I fired again as a signal, and waited for the 
old man to come round. Presently I heard his halloa 
below me, and I went to meet him. He'd hardly be- 
lieve my story, but we went u.p the gulf, and found 
my two painters shot dead enough, and their bones 
broken by their plunge down the rocks, in the bar- 
gain. One of them was a she one, and from appear- 
ances was the mother of a family. Old Pete declared 
he'd have her y/helps. We went round to where I 
found them eatin' the deer, and the old man, after 
examinin' the signs, as he termed them, started off to- 
ward the head of the gulf. We searched the rest of 
that day, but found nothing. We were satisfied, 
however, that we war'nt a gTcat waj^s from the old 
painter's lair, for Ave found, scattered about, the bones 
of deer, and other animals they had devoured. We 
camped on the mountains that night, and about day- 
light, old Pete started from his bed of boughs, and 
cocking his ear for a moment, cried out, ' that's them.' 
I listened, and heard a whinin', moanin' sort of a 
noise,, like a kitten's. that's lost its mother. We started 



The PANTHER'S Cubs. 88 

off in the direction of the sonnd, and at the head of 
the gulf, under a ledge of rocks, we found three joung 
painters, nestling in a bed of leaves, snug enough. 
Thej were about as large as cats, and plump, and fat, 
and hungry as anything. One of 'em we knocked on 
the head, and each of us took another, and went 
ahead. We fed 'em on fresh meat, and bro't 'em out 
safe. We sold them to a menagery man for twenty- 
five dollars a piece. They were harmless, playfal 
things, and one would hardly think they'd grow up to 
be such fierce and ugly customers. Old Pete Meigs 
and I made fifty dollars a piece that trip round the 
Hudson, and had a good time of it too." 

On the west side of the lake, some distance below 
our shantee, the water was shallow for a few acres. 
Here the pond-lilies grew in profusion, covering the 
surface with their broad, round leaves, in the midst of 
which sparkled, like silver, a thousand beautiful white 
flowers. These lily patches furnish rich pasture for 
the deer, and we noticed paths leading into the forest, 
which were trampled almost like those leading to a 
sheepfold. It being towards night, we sat ourselves 
quietly down behind a thick clump of bushes, on a 
low promontory, to watch for the deer as they should 



84 Hills AND Lakes. 

come to tlie water to feed. We were careful to select 
a spot for our hiding-place, so situated that the breeze 
would blow towards us, from the direction in which 
we supposed thej would enter the water to feed. 
This is necessary, as the deer will otherwise scent the 
hunter a long distance, and keep beyond the reach of 
his rifle. We sat silent for perhaps half an hour, 
watching, when an old buck walked cautiou.sly from 
the forest; and stepped into the edge of the lake. 
Here he paused, and looked in every direction about 
him, and seeing that all was safe, waded out three or 
four rods from the shore, and commenced feedinof on 
the stems of the pond-lilies. He was within fair range 
of my rifle, but we let him feed on. Presently a doe 
came down from the woods, in the same cautious man- 
ner, and she, too, began to regale upon the rich pas- 
ture that the lake afforded. We sat there until four 
were quietly feeding, — all in fair sight, and within 
range of my rifle. Selecting a small one that, from 
where I sat, seemed to be in the best case, I fired and 
brought him down. The report of my rifle and the 
smoke frightened the others hugely, and with a snort 
they leaped from the water, and went crashing and 
whistling up the mountains. The old buck didn't 



F O R E S T C O O K E E Y . 86 

seem to understand tlie matter at all. He was greatly 
alarmed, to be sure, but we beard bim wbistling every 
few minutes, and beating tbe ground witb bis feet, as 
if bounding up and down, some forty or fift}^ rods 
away in tbe forest, for a long time. He was sbut out 
from our view, as we were from bis, by tbe dense 
foliage between us. At last we beard bim bound 
away in earnest, and all was still again. Our deer 
was a small two year old, and exceedingly fat and 
tender. We supped on bis sirloin, roasted before tbe 
fire tbat nigbt, and tbat witb a relisb seldom equalled. 
Tbe science of roasting a sirloin of venison in tbe 
woods, is not to be despised. One must understand it 
to succeed well. Two crotcbed sticks are set up be- 
fore, and at a proper distance from tbe fire, and from 
eacb otber ; across tbese in tbe fork, and at tbe beigbt 
of about six feet, is laid anotber. Tbe venison is sus- 
pended from tbis cross-bar by a string, close enougb 
to tbe fire to roast, and is kept constaiitly turning, so 
tbat all sides get an equal portion of tbe beat. We 
used a pint basin for a dripping-pan, from wbicb, ever 
and anon, we basted it witb tbe ricb gravy tbat 
dripped from it wbile roasting. Bircb bark, just 
peeled from tbe trees, served for platters and plates 



86 Hills and Lakes. 

when it was done ; and let me say to you, that our 
venison tasted to us better that night than though it 
had been dealt with in the most artistic style of cook- 
ery, and spoiled by a profusion of French condiments. 



IX. 



The Losi? Child — Shags:. 

" What a queer matter it is, Squire," said Tucker, 
as lie knocked tlie ashes from his pipe, after supper, 
by tapping the inverted bowl against his left thumb- 
nail, "that all living things should stand in fear of a 
man. From the fierce painter to the timid hare ; from 
the eagle, that looks with a steady eye at the sun, as 
he soars beyond sight into the sky, to the sparrow 
that chirrups in the hedge ; all flee from the face of a 
man, and that, too, though they never saw one of his 
kind afore. Some animals, to be sure, when they be- 
come better acquainted with him, learn to fear liini 
less, and live in his neighborhood with less of dread ; 
but such animals are his slaves, servin' him with 
patient and slavish fear. Among all the dumb beasts, 
the dog alone seems to live on friendly terms with 
him. ISTow, Squire, tell me why it is that all livin' 



88 Hills AND Lakes. 

things, save the dog alone, seems to regard man as 
their nateral enemy. The little trout, even, that suns 
himself in the ripple, darts av/ay from his presence, 
and hides himself under the bank. Is it because he is 
always warring against 'em ? Killing 'em for his 
pleasure, or enslaving 'em for his profit? I all'ers 
tho't that the love of unrestrained freedom, was a 
nateral element in all livin' things, — strong as life it- 
self. The moose scents a man afar off, and hides him- 
self away in the deepest recesses of the forest, or the 
darkest shadows of the swamps. The painter, unless 
made bold by hunger, lays silent and still in his lair 
to escape him. The bird takes to his wings, and flies 
away from him. Among all the wild or tame ani- 
mals, the dog alone seems to regard him as a friend 
and protector, and stays willingly by him, as a con- 
fidin' and faithful servant, watchin' over his safety, 
and lookin' to him for protection. By the way, Squire, 
the dog is an animal that a man may take profitable 
lessons of. He never deceives his friend and master. 
He never ceases to love him ; when all other friends 
forsake and flee from him, he stands by him. In 
hunger and cold, in sickness and distress, he never 
leaves him. All he asks is food, and even that isn't 



My GUIDE'S Dog. 89 

made a condition of his servitude or friendsliip. I 
love my dog," said lie, as he put his brawny arm 
around his shaggy friend's neck, and drew him to- 
wards his bosom, and I could see by the sparkling 
eyes of the animal, as he licked his master's face, that 
the love vv' as reciprocal. 

It may not be amiss to introduce to the reader, the 
friend that held so high a place in my guide's regards. 
That I have not done so before, is perhaps blameable. 
He started with us into the wood, glad enough, as it 
seemed to me, for the privilege of doing so. He was 
a large, powerful animal, of no particular breed or 
beauty. His coat was shaggy, and of light gray color. 
The blood of the terrier, the stag-hound, the 'Ne\i- 
found] and, and cur, evidently miogled in his veins ; 
and it may well be that the mastiff and stubbornly- 
courageous bull -dog might have been reckoned among 
his ancestors. He had a large head, and two of the 
most active, intelligent eyes that I ever happened 
to see belonging to a dumb animal. He had, from 
accident or design, been shorn of his tail, excepting 
a short stump of about six inches. His ears, too, had 
been trimmed, as my guide said, when he was a pup, 
to make him look sharp and active. His looks did 



90 Hills and Lakes. 

not belie His cliaracter for courage or intelligence. 
When we desired it, lie went witli ns, — close at his 
master's heels when we travelled, or sitting quietly in 
the bow of our canoe, or on our raft, when we floated 
on the water. When we did not desire his company, 
we left him at our shantee, placing him as a watch- 
man over some garment that we would leave in his 
charge. Where we thus left him, we were sure to 
find him on our return. He would greet us as we 
came back, rejoiced to see us, and would say as 
plainly as a speechless animal could say, that he had 
been a faithful watcher in our absence. 

"That dog," resumed my guide, "has knowin' ways, 
and I sometimes imagine that he thinks like a man. 
That he has strong memory I know, and that he some- 
times gets at the meaning of things in a human way, 
I do believe. Two years ago this summer, my little 
girl went into the edge of the woods one day, to pick 
berries. You know our little clearin' is mostly sur- 
rounded with woods, and on two sides the forest 
stretches away for fifty miles or more. The time for 
her return passed away, and she didn't come back. 
Her mother and me became alarmed ; we went all 
round the edge of the woods, and called, and called, 



The Lost Child. 91 

but no answer was returned. Then we knew slie was 
lost ; and, Squire, you never can know the bitterness 
of the thoughts that come into a parent's heart, when 
he knows that his little one is away off, lost, all alone, 
wandering in the wild woods to starve, and die, or be 
torn in pieces, and devoured by the beasts of prey. 
My boy was away to the mill, and Shack (the name 
of his dog) was with him. The sun was going 
down behind the mountains, and no tidings of our 
little one reached us. My Avife's heart was broken 
with fear for her poor girl ; and although a strong 
woman, her nerves were all gone with anguish. I 
carried her to the house and left her in charge of my 
boy, who had just returned. I shouldered my rifle, 
and calling Shack after me, went out to pursue the 
search. I called, and called, but could hear no an- 
swer. Presently Shack seemed to understand some- 
thing of the trouble I was in, and though I never 
knew liim to leave my heels or disobey me before, he 
became terrible uneasy like, starting away every few 
minutes, and returning with, the greatest reluctance. 
Now it never occurred to me that Shack, after all, was 
the best searcher for the lost one. I was so troubled, 
that I forgot the noble instinct and sagacity of the 



92 Hills AND Lakes. 

dog. At last, when I called the name of my girl, 
Shack, as if he'd made up his mind, darted away, 
and utterly refused to come back. His ways was 
strange to me, and I was kind o' scared by his be- 
havior. He coursed in a circle, growing wider and 
wider, running at the top of his speed, with his head 
down, as if in pursuit of something, till I lost sight 
and hearing of him, and like my little girl, I was 
alone in the forest. The dark night had come on, but 
I struggled forward, stumbling at every foot fall in 
the darkness, calling every few minutes, my daugh- 
ter's name. The echoes of my voice died away into 
stilness, or was answered only by the startled cry of 
some night bird. ^ 

"I sat down to rest, and concluded in my hope- 
lessness to wait for the daylight, to pursue the search. 
It was a sad, sad thing. Squire, to sit there in the 
silent darkness, and know that my little girl too, was 
alone in those dark wide woods, shivering with fear, 
and calling upon her father to carry her home — see- 
ing, in her terror, great round eyes of wild beasts, 
glaring upon her from every bush, and hearing their 
angry growl in every forest sound. I heard the 
solemn hooting of the owl. and his wild scream, and 



The Search. 93 

til ought what terror it would carry to her little heart. 
I heard the dull creaking of some great tree, as it 
rubbed against another, and while to me it was a fa- 
miliar sound, yet how full of horror it would be to 
her ears. She was a timid, tender thing, and I thoughl 
all these sounds, and the darkness wo aid kill her 
I sat there may be an hour, when I heard a crashing 
of the brush on the way I had come, and in a moment 
Shack bounded up to me. He was panting and 
lolling, as if he was just from a long chase, but he 
seemed overjoyed and crazy as a loon. He bounded 
around me, and jumped upon me, and whined and 
barked in a way that I had never seen a dog do be- 
fore ; and it seemed out of place that he should be so 
merry, when my own heart was so sad. He would 
jump upon me, and bound away, and then stop and 
look back, as if asking me to follow him. Scolding 
did no good, he would not heed it. All at once, light 
broke in upon me. He has found my child, I cried, 
and is telling me to go to her. I wasn't long in obey- 
ing him, you may be sure, Squire ; and when I start- 
ed in the direction he indicated, he became at once 
quiet, and steady before mo, as if satisfied that he was 
understood. We had travelled thus what seemed to 



M Hills and Lakes. 

me a long distance, when a thought seemed to strike 
him. He stopped and listened a moment, and then 
dashed like a race-horse away. Calling did no good : 
he was ought of sight in a moment, and in less than a 
minute I lost the sound of his bounds, as he dashed 
through the woods. I followed in the direction aa 
fast as the darkness would permit. It was some fif- 
teen minutes, when I again heard him coming at full 
speed to meet me. He seemed as joyous as before, 
and after jumping and barking for a moment around 
me, took his post in front again, and we passed on. 
After awhile, I called out my little one's name, and, 
Oh ! it was a sweet and pleasant answer to my heart, 
that came faintly back, 'father, I am here.' Away 
bounded Shack again, and you may believe, Squire, 
that I wasn't long in following him. A few minutes, 
and my little one was in a happy man's arms, safe 
from harm, but trembling with the horror of her 
night in the dark still woods. 

" She had wandered in search of berries, beyond 
the sight of our clearing, and when she turned to go 
home, became bewildered and lost in the mazes of the 
forest. She wandered on until night, and then, in 
mortal terror, sat down in the darkness to weep, and, 



The Child Found. 05 

as slie thought, to die. Frightened as she was, sleep 
weighed down her little eyelids, and she slept. She 
was awakened, she said, by something licking her 
little bare feet and face, and she started up screaming 
in affright, thinking it was a panther or a bear ; but 
Shack leaped, and whined, and yelped in his great 
gladness around her ; and when she knew it was him, 
she felt safe. He stayed by her a few minutes, and 
then darted away, and she was alone again, and as 
frightened as ever. She dared not call, for fear the 
panthers and bears would hear her, and come and tear 
her to pieces. She had sat there a long time, when 
something stirred among the bushes near her, and she 
screamed out in her terror. It must have been that 
Shack heard her, as he was guiding me forward at the 
time he left me, though the sound didn't reach my 
own ear* A few minutes after, Shack was by her side 
again, glad enough to find her safe. He soon left her, 
and when she heard my voice, she knew he was lead- 
ing me to her. We were two good miles in the woods 
then, but, Squire, that little girl that I loved so dearly, 
that had been lost in them great wide woods, and been 
found again, was light as my own heart, as I bore her 



96 Hills AND Lakes. 

home, and placed her in the arms of her mother ; and 
you needn't wonder that we've loved Shack more'n 
ever, since that sorrowful night." 

There's a beauty in the deep forest of a moonlight 
night, that we of the city but faintly dream of. Our 
shantee was on the banks, a few rods from the lake, 
with a slope of green between it and the water. 
Above us the trees, stretching out their long arms, 
formed an arch, through the vacant spaces of which, 
the stars peered down, while before us we looked 
away over the bright waters, on which the moon- 
beams played, as the night-breeze sent the mimic 
waves, rippling in tiny billows, over its bright surface. 
Ever and anon was heard the splash of the trout, as 
he leajDcd from the depths, and the deer, as he waded 
from the shore, to feed on the aquatic pastures, and 
the frog, as he leaped from his rock, and sendirg for' h 
a sharp quick note, plunged into the lake, to hide 
himself beneath the weeds and water-plants. Beyond 
and across the lake, the bare head of a conic mountain 
shot skyward, throwing back the moonlight from his 
glistening brow, while the night-winds sighed and 
moaned amono- the old forest trees that clustered 



Sleei^. 97 

abound his base. The night was too heautiiul almost 
for sleep. Yet we laid ourselves down upon our bed 
of boughs ; slumber sc^on stole over us, and we passed 
awaj in the land of dreams. 



X. 



Drea-ms.— Th2 Phairies on Fire. — A Woon-DEiiou's Torcb 

Dreams ! What are dreams ? Why is it that, a 
the silence or stillness of night, when the body lies in- 
sensible in the repose of sleep, that strange visions rise 
lip before us, and we seem to wander amid scenes that 
belong not to the living world, — visions that war with 
natural laws, and yet seem, to oiir senses, consistent 
as those of real life ? A new world opens before us, 
■ — a world governed by different laws ; we possess 
natures, antagonist to our real ones, and are endowed 
with attributes that belong not to humanity. We 
take to ourselves wings, and fly like birds through the 
air ; we rush unharmed through the deep waters, and 
plunge unhurt down profound precipices ; we talk 
with dumb animals, and hold communion with those 
who have long been slumbering in the grave. And 



Dreams. 99 

yet in all this there seems to us at the time, to be no 
violation of natural laws, nothing strange or mysteri- 
ous. We recall them to our waking memory, and 
wonder how it could be, that even in sleep, we did 
not detect their impossibility. Wh}^, and how is this ? 
Does the spirit leave for a time its prison-house, and 
wander, in fact, in a new and real world ? Are the 
things we dream of, sober realities, existent as those 
we see while in our waking hours ? Are there many 
worlds, one within or around another, between which 
the spirit and the body vascillate ? When the body 
sinks to slumber, does the spirit, in truth, visit other 
worlds, participating in their scenes, mingling with 
other beings, and holding converse with other intel* 
ligences ? Who can tell ? 

As I slumbered upon that bed of boughs that 
night, strange visions passed before me. I was away 
in a new world, and yet all that I saw was familiar ; 
nothing seemed strange to me. I was among beings 
that I seemed to know ; not men and women, but 
rather the spirits of men and women ; not as those 
that had died, and whose bodies were mouldering 
in the grave, — they had form, but not substance ; 
shadows that moved and spoke ; that seemed formed 



100 Hills and Lakes. 

after the similitude of men and women, but througli 
whose forms the sunlight passed. I possessed all the 
attributes of humanity, save a real, tangible body. 
Hands, and limbs, and body, I seemed to possess, — 
palpable to the vision, but not to the touch. Hunger? 
and cold, and heat, and pain, were things that seemed 
to me unknown. Space and time were as nothing. I 
passed at once without effort, like thought, from place 
to place. We think of scenes far distant from us ; 
memory calls up the stream, the lake, the meadow, 
the great trees, the cottage, and the garden ; we say 
thought wanders away to such scenes. Well, this 
seemed to be with me a reality. If I thought of a 
scene, a locality, hundreds or thousands of miles 
away, at once I was there. 

I thought of Eome, of the great St. Peter's, and 
there I stood, beneath that gigantic temple. I thought 
of the pyramids, and stood at their base, and talked 
familiar with the mummies that slept within those 
granite piles; I thought of Waterloo, and there I 
stood, surveying that mighty conflict. I saw legions 
of men, hurled against legions of men. I heard the 
roar of the cannon, and the rattle of musketry. I saw 
the smoke of battle, wreathing up from blazing bat* 



Dreams. 101 

talions. I saw the flashing of swords, as vast squad- 
rons of horsemen mowed down the flying foe. I 
heard the groans of the wounded, and the wild shrieks 
of the dying. I passed unharmed through the con- 
flicting hosts, looking upon the dying and the dead. 
Wherever I chose to be, at once I was there. How I 
passed I know not, — the fact alone I remember. As 
my body was intangible, it was unaffected by the ele- 
ments. Fire would not burn it; water would not 
drown it. I could walk on the bottom of the ocean, 
with a thousand fathoms of water above me. I could 
plunge into the volcano's seething cauldron. Eocks 
would not crush me, and precipices, down which I 
plunged, were harmless as the level plain. Such a 
being was I, and such were those around me. Shad- 
ows, mere intellectualities, existing palpably to the 
vision, having form and comehness, but unfettered 
and unconfined by a fleshly body. Of such a body, 
it seemed to me, I had never heard, save in the wild 
theories of some metaphysical dreamer. Its existence 
was a subject of derision, and those who upheld its 
reality were regarded as idle visionaries, — nay, as pro- 
fane rejectors of philosophical truths. 

"A change came o'er the spirit of my dream." 



102 Hills and Lakes. 

I was awaj in the midst of tlie broad prairies of 
tbe West. They lay there, as they came from the 
Creator's hand. The eye of civihzation had never be- 
fore looked upon them, and no civilized man had set 
his foot upon the green grass that vegetated npon 
their bosom. All around me Avere vast plains, — tree- 
less and shrubless as a shorn meadow. Away off, 
on the one hand, hanging like a blue dim shadow 
upon the horizon, was a belt that I knew to be tim- 
ber, while on the other, on the very outside boundary 
of vision, loomed up the lofty peaks of the Eocky 
Mountains, — moveless and fixed, like sentinels of 
God, watching the boundless plains beneath them. 
The tall grass waved, like vast fields of grain in the 
summer y/inds ; rich flowers of the most gorgeous 
hues, sent their wild fragrance abroad on the air, 
charming the vision by their glory, and entrancing 
the senses by their sweetness. In all this vast plain, I 
saw no living thing. All around me was silence ; 
vegetation alone seemed to live there, and that grew 
and flourished in richest and wildest luxuriance. It 
was like a vast garden, planted and nourished by the 
hand of nature, unaided, as it was unchecked, by the 
ingenuity or the industry of man. Suddenly a blight 



The Stampede. 108 

seemed to pass over that vast plain ; the flowers 
faded ; the tall grass shrivelled and died ; the leaves 
on the rank weeds rolled together, and were blown 
away, by hot winds that swept over that ocean of 
land ; vegetation withered into a graj' and sapless 
mass, standing where it grew; the streams, that were 
wont to move in sluggish and tortuous windings, were 
dried up, leaving channels like the trails of immense 
serpents ; the blight of drought was upon all nature 
about me. 

As I stood, wrapped in contemplation of the im- 
mensity around me, a dull heavy sound fell upon my 
ear, like the rumbling of a thousand carriages over 
the rough pavements of a far-off city. Turning in the 
direction whence the sound seemed to come, I saw in 
the distance vast herds of deer and antelopes, flying at 
\\'ild speed towards the spot where I stood. Behind 
these came an army of elks, their stately horns glanc- 
ing and waving in the sunlight, seemed like a foret^t 
of dead, low, barkless trees. Behind these came thun- 
clerlDg down again, millions and millions of buffaloes, 
making the earth tremble with the weight oi their 
rushing and countless hosts. For miles and miles, in 
width as well as in depth, this vast herd covered the 



104 Hills and Lakes. 

plain, bellowing and roaring in seeming terror at some 
terrible destruction behind them. Then came vast 
droves of wolves, panting and bowling, in immense 
numbers, with jaws distended, and tongues lolling out, 
like bounds wearied by tbe cbase. None seemed 
seeking for prey ; a mortal terror was upon all ; all 
were fleeing, as it seemed for life, towards tbe belt of 
timber land visible in tbe distance. These vast waves 
of animal life swept by me ; the roar of their countless 
voices died away, like the tempest in its onward flight. 
Then I saw the reason of their mortal terror. Away 
in the distance, was a dense line of dark murky smoke, 
wreathing and twisting heavenward, wrapping earth 
and sky in its sombre folds. On came the fearful 
visitation, preceded by a line of fire athwart the whole 
of that vast plain, flashing and glancing upward as 
new fuel was grasped by its devouring tongue, and it 
was hurled onward by the rushing winds» On it 
came, crackling and roaring, like a mighty billow of 
flame, devouring and overwhelming all things in its 
terrible career. Onward and onward it came, with 
the speed of the war horse, and the roar of the tor- 
nado. Before, it was destruction; in its rear, the 
blackness of desolation. Far as the eye could reach, 



The Pkairie on Fire. 105 

on the right hand and on the left, it moved in a line 
of fire, leaving no escape save an onward flight. I 
stood spell-bound as it approached ; that mighty 
prairie seemed rolled up, as it swept along, like a vast 
scroll, while the impenetrable obscurity behind it was 
like the darkness that was of old on the face of the 
deep. It approached — it surrounded — ^it enveloped 

me within its folds, when 1 awoke, and behold it 

was a dream! and "yet not all a dream." The fire 
we had kindled in front of our shantee, had crept 
along the dry leaves until it reached the foot of a dead 
fir tree, among whose thick and withered branches, a 
wild grape-vine had spread its thousand tendrils. 
That too was dead ; the fire had crept up the dry 
trunk of that dead fir tree, and having reached the net- 
work of vines and sapless branches, it burst out into a 
brilliant flame. When I started from my sleep it was 
flashing and creaking, and swirling upwards, lighting 
up forest and lake, like a vast torch in the hand of 
some gigantic demon of the woods. 



XI. 

Sr. Keoi3 Lake. — The Bald Eagle. — His Haeits. — A Prizk. 

The morning broke clear and briglit. A batli in 
the clear cold waters of the lake, and a breakfast be- 
fore sunrise, nerved ns for our day's journey towards 
the Saranac Lakes, some twenty miles distant. It was 
by no means our intention to travel all that distance 
in a single day ; that, would be to turn pleasure into 
toil. I started from liome, with a determination to 
take things easy, and though prepared for some labor, 
was by no means prepared make that labor over se- 
vere. As I have before stated, my guide was familiar 
with all this wild region, and there was no danger of 
becoming bewildered ; besides, the country is every- 
where intersected with streams, and should one be- 
come " lost in the woods," it would only be necessary 
to follow one of them and he would be sure to come 



T B A V E L L I N G . 107 

out ere long, at some lake Avliich lie would recoguize, 
01' if not, lie would arrive at last, at some settlement, 
Tlie way miglit be longer or shorter, according to cir- 
cumstances, but lie Yv^ould find no lack of food, always 
supposing that lie carried a rifle, and was in possession 
of a book and line. 

We followed tbe course of a stream, wbicb formed 
the inlet to Meacbam's Lake, for some five or six 
miles, until we struck a townsbip line of marked 
trees, and tben, diverging from our course for near a 
mile, came to a neat little lake, covering, perhaps, two 
or three hundi^ed acres. Here we bivouacked for tlie 
remainder of the day and night. Having erected our 
shantee, we lay down to rest. In an hour we v»^ere 
up again, refreshed, and ready for such amusement as 
the water and woods afforded. Our stock of pro- 
visions had become reduced to very simple fare. Sea 
biscuit, pepper, salt, and a little tea, constituted our 
whole supply. But these, with venison and trout, 
and such appetites as a man finds in the woods, an- 
sv/crs the purpose of more delicate food to a dainty 
taste. We constructed a catamaran of poles, and 
during the afternoon, coasted, and crossed the lake. 
We found, that like the others we had visited, it 



108 Hills and Lakes. 

abounded in trout — large ones in the deep water, and 
tbe smaller speckled trout, near the sl^ore. The deer, 
too, from the paths leading into the forest, seemed to 
be plenty, and at sundown I shot a small one, as he 
was feeding on the water-lilieg near the shore. 

In the morning, we passed on to a pond or lake, 
six or seven miles distant, and near the centre of the 
township. This lake is some three miles in length, 
and varying from half a mile to a mile in width. It 
bore the same general aspect as the other, surrounded 
by old primeval forests, overlooked on one side by 
high hills, and skirted on the other by a valley that 
stretched away to the east, through which flowed a 
noisy brook, literally swarming with small speckled 
trout. We dined on sea-biscuit and broiled trout, on 
the banks of this pond, and then struck for St. Eegis 
Lake, some six miles distant, and on the other side 
from us a range of high hills. It was a warm day, 
and that six miles was toilsome enough. They cost 
us much labor, and not a little perspiration, but by 
six o'clock we descended the hills, where at their base, 
in the deep shadows of the mountains, lay the lake, 
calm and still, and transparent as a mirror. It was a 
welcome sight to our eyes, that beautiful lake, sleep- 



St. Eegis Lake. 109 

ing there, so silent and alone. We liad travelled 
some twelve miles that day, over a country rough, 
and toilsome at best, but rendered doubly so, by the 
tangled brush, the fallen trees, gullies, and broken 
rocks, and boulders, which lay in our way. We 
erected a shantee, and supped heartily on partridge 
and trout. We retired early that night, and, despite 
the sharp sting of musquitos, and their ceaseless 
trumpeting, slept soundly and calmly till dawn. 

Here again, my guide had, in former years, con- 
structed a canoe, which we found, where he had hid it 
the previous year, and having caulked, we launched 
it on the still surface of the waters. The St. Eegis 
may be four or five miles in length, by a half a mile 
or more in width, bending around the bluff end of a 
hill, somewhat in the shape, though less curved than 
a horse-shoe. On the opposite shore the land is more 
level, and the shallows reach far out into the lake. 
On these shallows, a profusion of grasses and lilies, 
and water weeds grow, forming rich pastures for the 
deer, and a secure hiding place for the many broods 
of wild ducks, that we saw sporting round their care- 
ful mother, as she watched with sleepless vigilance 
over them. 



no Hills AX D Lakes. 

My guide left his pack at tlie shantee, and giving 
Shack a hearty meal, ordered him to " watch it." 
"We started in our little craft to cross the lake. As 
we rounded a promontory, some half a mile from our 
starting place, Y/e noticed a majestic eagle, perched 
upon the dead branch of an ancient hemlock that 
leaned out over the lake, a quarter of a mile, perhaps, 
distant. These birds, will sit thus for hours, pluming 
themselves, or watching in quietness the lake, for some 
heedless duck that may trust himself too far from 
the shore. "We landed quietly, and I started with my 
rifle, to endeavor to approach near enough, to bring 
him down from his lofty perch. Happily the nature 
of the ground aided me in this ; a path worn by the 
deer, led round the lake, along which I could move, 
without disturbing the bird. I stole cautiously along, 
and having approached within range of my rifle, 
sighted carefully by the side of a tree, and fired. 
The ball struck the outer joint of his wing, and down 
came his feathered majesty, flapping and turning over 
and over, until he struck the surface of the lake. 
Having regained the canoe, we started to secure our 
prey. He was, indeed, a noble old bird ; his head 
and the feathers of his neck, and of his tail, were 



The Eagle. Ill 

white, while the rest of his plumage was of dark 
brown, approaching the black. He was not that 
drooping, ding}-, rough, and unwashed thing, that we 
see in cages, and have pointed out to us, as the great 
king of American birds. As we approached, he made 
a desperate effort to flj away, failing in which, he faced 
us with a look of defiance. There was a wild fierce- 
ness, an intensity in his eye, that spoke of the rapacity, 
as well as the courage of his nature. As we came 
near him, he opened his great beak, and hissed like a 
serpent, defiance at us. A blow on the head with a 
pole, after a brief struggle, stilled him, and we drew 
our noble captive into the boat. 

I am not sure that I felt precisely satisfied, for 
having slaughtered that princely bird. Me, at least, 
he had never harmed. He had slain, only to sustain 
his own life, and had killed, only to supply himself 
with food. He was following only the instincts of his 
nature; but was not I, also, folio v/ing mine? This 
was a question, which I left for settlement, to those 
more cunning in casuistry than myself. In the mean- 
time I retained his great quills, a few soft feathers of 
his plumage, and one of his claws, as trophies, and 
left his carcase to float on the scene of his own car- 



112 Hills and Lakes. 

nage. He was like some great human heroes, using 
his strength for pillage, and his power only to destroy. 
I had, at least, removed one cause of terror, from the 
anxious hearts of the mothers of those harmless 
broods, that I had seen sporting near the opposite 
shore, the destruction of which, mj victim was no 
doubt watching an opportunity to achieve. 

^' Squire," said Tucker, as we shot into a little bay, 
so shaded and delightfully cool that we could not re- 
sist the temptation of making it a resting place, " I've 
hearn people call the eagle a noble and magnanimous 
bird ; but it ain't so. He's a cussed thief and robber, 
as well as a murderer of things weaker than himself; 
he's a mean, selfish critter, that takes no pleasure in 
being sociable and friendly like ; he's always hunting 
for something to devour, and when he gets hold of a 
poor duck or rabbit, he flies to some solitary spot, all 
alone by himself, and eats it. He never invites any- 
body to dinner, and is sure to pick a quarrel with 
every bird he meets. I've hear'n tell of the eagle and 
his mate ; but I've been about these lakes twenty odd 
years, and have seen a many of eagles, but I never 
saw two together more'n two or three times, and they 
were always quarrellin' and fightin', till one or the 



An Eagle Combat. 113 

other had to give in, and leave. I suppose it must be 
that accordin' to nater, they go sometimes in pairs, else 
the breed would run out, but I never saw two together 
on terms anything like friendly. I mind, once, away 
down at Tupper's Lake, old Pete Meigs and I was 
layin' off under a grape-vine, that had crept up the 
trunk of a great elm, and stretched its slender arms 
out all among the branches, and spread its great round 
leaves all over them, so that the sun couldn't pass 
through, we saw one of them birds settin' on the limb 
of a dry tree that leaned out over the lake. Presently 
"we saw a dark shadow glancing over the water, and 
what should it be but another great eagle, making a 
stoop at the one settin' on the limb. He missed his 
aim, however, and round and round they went, driv- 
ing and striking at each other, and screaming like 
owls. Once in a while they'd come together in the 
air, and. Squire, the way the feathers flew, was a 
caution to see. They seemed to grow madder and 
madder, till bye and by they had a regular clinch, and 
Pm blamed if they did'nt both come down together 
plump into the lake. This kind a cooled their fightin' 
humor, and they got out as fast as they could. One 
went back to his perch on the limb, and we saw blood 



114 Hills and Lakes. 

on the white featliers about his neck. The other 
soared away, and we watched him till he became like 
a speck in the ah*, and then lost him in the depth of 
the sky. Now, there was room enough for both of 
'em there, and prey enough for 'em both, too. But 
the one wanted to be alone, and the other would'nt 
let him, and so they must have a fight about it. 

" But, Squire, I said the eagle was a thief and a 
robber ; and when I tell what I've seen, you'll say 
I'm right. I once saw a fish-hawk over at the Shata- 
gee make a dive for a trout, and catch him. He 
might have weighed two pounds, and the hawk had 
hard work to raise with him from the water. But he 
did rise with him, and what was curious to me, seemed 
anxious to get as high as he could. He kept strug- 
glin' upward, and screamin' in a most uncommon 
way, until he'd got up may be four or five hun- 
dred feet, when I saw what his trouble was. From 
i^bove him, I saw a bald eagle comin' down, like a 
streak of chain lightnin', right upon him; the poor 
hawk had no choice but to let go the trout he had 
provided for dinner. This was what the eagle vv^as 
lookin' for, and swift as a bullet he dropt after the 
fish, and, Squire, how it could be I can't tell, but 



An Eagle's Kest. 115 

I'm blamed if he didn't grasp that fish in his great 
claws, long before it reached the water, and flew across 
the lake to a great rock, and devoured it. ISTow, I've 
no doubt he'd been watching that fish-hawk from his 
place, away up in the sky, to rob him of his lawful 
spoils. I say, again, the eagle's a robber and a thief, 
— usin' his strength to plunder; and I give him a 
bullet whenever he comes within range of my rifle. 
He's a solitary, and a selfish bird too. I have seen 
their nests, and watched to see the old one bring food 
for her young; but at such time I never saw the 
father of the family. If there was one, he didn't think 
much of his home or children, for I never saw him 
about. May be he was away preparin' meals for his 
wife ; but he didn't stay much about home, that's cer- 
tain. I mind once, old Pete Meigs and I was up 
among the Adirondacks, about the upper end of Long 
Lake, and the hundred other little lakes that lay there 
among the mountains. On one side of one of 'cm, 
that I never heard the name of, is a high mountain, 
around the point of which the lake bends, and where 
the rocks rise high, away up in an almost a perpen- 
dicular precipice, we saw one of their nests. It waa 
built among the branches of a fir tree, that stretched 



116 Hills and Lakes. 

out from the clefts midway up the rocks, and shot up- 
ward towards the sky, like the mast of a tall ship. 
Sticks and dry brush had been carried up, forming a 
nest larger than a corn basket. We watched for days, 
while we were there, and saw the mother bringing 
food for her little ones. Sometimes it would be a 
duck ; sometimes a wood-rabbit ; and now and then a 
fish, that she'd plundered from a hawk. She always 
seemed to be busy; but the he one we never saw, 
and, in my opinion, he took no charge of the family." 



XII. 



Thb Law of the Woods — Bio Clear Pond. — A Chase ATiIft 
A Deer. — A Moose Path. 



At evening we returned to our shantee, witli a 
supply of trout, and a small deer that we had shot. 
"We found Shack watching his charge, and mighty 
glad he was to see us too. Like us, he relished his 
supper that night. 

" Tucker," said I, as we sat smoking our pipes 
after supper, and listening to the hooting of the owls, 
and the song of the whip-poor-will, ''do you know 
that we have been breaking the law, and incurring a 
heavy penalty, by the killing of the deer, upon which 
we have been supping ?" 

'* Squire," said he, " I've hearn tell of such a thing, 
and suppose it's so, but I never read the law, and 
shouldn't regard it much if I had. Not that I believe 



118 Hills and Lakes. 

in disregardin' the law, as a general thing, but tLis 
one don't apply, and warn't ever intended to apply to 
the Shatagee Woods. Away off here, among the 
lakes and mountains, there's no justice of the peace^ 
nor constables, nor witnesses either, unless we tell on 
one another. And if there was, there's a law above 
the statut' book that justifies us — the law of hunger 
and of necessity. It is the same law that makes the 
eagle pounce upon and devour the harmless duck,— 
that makes the fish -hawk seize his prey, and the 
painter destroy the deer,— the law of instinct and self- 
preservation. I often think, he continued, *' there are 
two kinds of laws, differin' as widely in their naters as 
light and darkness. The one bindin' everywhere, — in 
the forest, as in the settlements ; in the fields, as in the 
cities ; to break which would be wrong of itself. The 
other, bindin' only to accordin' to circumstances. As 
regards the one, the wrong consists in the breakin' of 
it, whether the world knows of the breach or not. As 
to the other, the sin is in being caught in its violation. 
There's one law for the woods, and another for the 
settlements ; one for the deep forests, and another for 
the city. If I build a shantee of brush on a vacant 
lot in a city, and live there with my dog, I'm taken 



City vs. Co tJi^' TRY. 119 

up as a vagrant, and sent to the penitentiary. Why ? 
Because there's houses enough in a city for all to sleep 
in, and it's onnateral to sleep outside of 'em, and the 
people think I'm around for no good. But who ever 
thought it out of the way of nater, for us away out 
here, where there ain't any houses, to sleep in our 
shantee in the depths of the Shatagree ? If I find a 
loafer in your street, torterin' and abushi' a dura 
animal, and I kick him by way of caution, I'm taken 
up for 'salt and battery, as it is called. Why ? Not 
because the fellow didn't deserve a kickin', nor be- 
cause I didn't sarve him right, but because there's 
courts, and constables, and law, by which he may be 
punished in a regular way. But who would think of 
takin' me up, for kickin' that cussed half-breed I told 
you of, for slaughtering the poor deer on the crust ? 
If in the night-time, in the streets of your city, I think 
to amuse myself by singing at the top of my voice, 
I'm taken to the watch-house, and locked up. Why ? 
Because I'm disturbin' the sleep of the people, alarmin' 
the timid, shaking the nerves of the sick, and breakin' 
the public peace. But if away off here in the deep 
forest, alone among the lakes and hills, I choose to 
strike up Hail Columby, whether to amuse myself, or 



120 Hills and Lakes. 

wake up tlie sleeping echoes of tlie mountains, to heal! 
my voice thrown back by the Adirondacks, who will 
say I have broken the peace, or disturbed the quiet 
of the people ? 

" The truth is, Squire, away off here in the wild 
woods, the law you speak of has no force. If I'm 
hungry, I've a right to furnish myself with venison. 
The law of nater and necessity permits it, and that I 
say again, is higher than the statut' book. But I've 
no right to steal your rifle, or murder you, even in 
the deepest and darkest recesses of the Shatagee. 
Why ? Because the law of nater and of conscience, 
of the great God himself, as well as of man^ forbids it. 
And though you might rot where I slew you, and no 
man look upon your bones, though I myself should 
escape suspicion, yet the guilt would be as deep, and 
the wrong as great, as though done in the highways 
of the settlements, or the crowded streets of a city. 
But killin' a deer here in the woods, that belongs to 
nobody, that no one ever before saw, that no live man 
can lay any claim to, is another thing, even though 
there may be law agin it. It don't go agin my con- 
science to break such a law, and I don't care who 
knows it. If by killin' a deer when I want steaks for 



Big Clear Pond. 121 

breakfast, or his rump for dinner, I do go agin a printed 
statut', I can still look yon in ttie face as an honest man, 
because that statut' don't reach the Shatagee woods, 
nor the lakes and mountains of the Adirondacks. 

" Good," said I; " Tucker, you talk like a Judge, 
and without knowing it, have hit upon the legal phi- 
losophy of Blackstone." 

" I don't know," he replied, " who Blackstone is, 
but that's the pliilosophy and the law of the woods, 
as we understand it." 

We started next morning for Big Clear Pond, as 
it is called, a circular sheet of water, four or five miles 
in circumference, and some three miles from St. Regis 
Lake. Our way again lay over a range of hills, cov- 
ered Avith tangled brush, and loose boulders, that 
made travel exceedingly toilsome. This range of hills 
divides the head waters of the St. Regis River from 
those of the Saranac. The lake is properly named. 
Its waters are clear, and one caD look away down into 
its depths, and see the white pebbles on its gravelly 
bottom, twenty or thirty feet beneath him. It is ex- 
ceedingly cold too, and if the trout with which it 
abounds, are not contented with their home, they are 

not capable of appreciating a good thing, 





122 Hills and Lakes. 

This lake affords little pasture for the deer. Its 
shores are bold, and it produces none of the lilies and 
grasses, which so abound in the other lakes we had 
visited. We found a canoe here that had been left 
adrift, or had been floated away from its hiding place. 
It lay upon the beach, as if it had drifted there when 
the waters were high, and was left high and dry when 
they receded. It was without oars or paddles ; the 
latter, however was soon hewn out by my guide, and 
we launched it, for a voyage round the lake. We 
spent the balance of the day on this beautiful sheet of 
water, and slept in a shantee on its shore. Here, for 
the first time^ we had no prospect of taking a deer^ 
fi'om such as should come to the water to feed j but^ 
we were not, therefore, to be without venison. I have 
before said that Shack had a sprinkling of the Stag 
Hound in his veins, and would as a consequence, fol- 
low a track- — not as staunch, certainly, as one of purer 
blood, but sufficiently long to satisfy our purpose here. 
So long as he would follow, he kept his game in active 
play, and his half hour always made a deer exceed- 
ingly busy. My guide stationed me at a point where 
a low ridge terminated in the lake, as the place where 
the deer would be most likely to take to the water, 



Little Clear Pond. 128 

and tlien started up the valley with the dog to put 
him on the trail. 1 had been waiting, perhaps half an 
hour, when I heard the quick, sharp, currish yelp of 
Shack, some distance off, on the side of the mountain* 
In a few minutes I heard the long bounds of a deer, 
as he came crashing through the brush towards the 
lake, with the dog some sis or eight rods behind him, 
barking quick and sharp, at every jump. The deer 
leaped into the water, some eight rods from me, and 
struck out for the opposite shore^ A ball from my 
rifle stopped him — 1 was soon along side of him with 
the canoe, and passing my hunting knife across his 
throat, the pure waters around him became crimson 
with his blood. 

From Big Clear Pond we struck across a ridge 
some two miles to Little Clear Pond, a sheet of water 
covering perhaps three hundred acres. This little 
lakelet, if I may be permitted to coin a word, is a per* 
feet gem, laying there all alone, skirted by tall forest 
trees, and overlooked by the hills, its waters trans- 
parent and cold, undisturbed by a ripple, and reveal- 
ing the white pebbles that glisten away down in its 
quiet depths. We dined on its banks, beneath a 
festoon of vines, that spread out among the branches 



124 Hills and Lakeb, 

of an ancieDt elm. While smoking, after our siesta,^ 
we saw a number of gray wood-rabbits bopping about, 
cocking up tlieir long ears as tbey scented our cook- 
ery, and bounding away, wlien they looked upon our 
faces. The red squirrels chatted and chased each 
other up and down the trees around us, the partridges 
drummed on their logs, and the birds regaled us with 
their songs. To all this enjoyment there was one 
drawback-— the bills of the musquitos were long, and 
the sting of the black fly severe. A mink came steal- 
ing along the margin of the lake, turning over the 
flat stones, and looking for frogs, and small fish along 
the shore. He was worth shooting, and I gave him a 
shot. My hand was unstead}^, or my eye-sight not 
clear, and all the harm I did him v/a^s to give him a 
terrible fright. He wont forget his nanow escape, for 
the ball went awfully near his head. He will have 
something to tell his neighbors, that will sound apoch= 
ryphal in minkdom. 

Having viewed this charming little sheet of water 
to our satisfaction, we followed what my guide termed 
a moose path, along the outlet, some three miles to 
the head of the Upper Saranac. I would not have it 
inferred that this path was trodden like a highway, or 



A Moose Path. 125 

tliat we saw any spoor of tlie moose. It was made 
wlien that animal was vastly more abundant than it is 
now. It was, however, easily traceable ; the deer and 
other animals travelled it, and it saved ns much labor 
and trouble in guiding us directly to the lake below. 



XIII. 



The TJppeh Sabanao. — A Song on the Water. — A Woodman's 
Notion of the Past, the Present, and the Future, of 
Ameri'^a. 



We struck tlie Upper Saranac towards sundown. 
Here we found a sTiantee of poles, for whatever hunter 
might stray away to that lonely region. We took 
possession, and having cleared away the dry branches 
used the year before for a bed, and having swept and 
garnished the floor, we supplied new boughs on which 
to repose, and went out to secure a supper. This, the 
water and the air supplied us with, for while I caught 
a string of trout in the stream which forms the inlet, 
my guide shot a brace of partridges, which Shack 
treed for him on a hemlock near the shantee. We 
supped as the sun gave his last rays, to glisten on the 
brow of the mountains, on the opposite side of the 
lake. My guide had hid away his canoe at some dis- 



A Song on the Watee. 127 

tance down tlie lake, and started off to procure it, that 
we miglit take an early start in the morning, on a 
voyage down the Saranac. I sat upon a boulder on 
the margin of the lake. The sun had gone down, 
and the grayness of twilight was fast settling upon all 
things ; the stars stole out, one after another, and were 
reflected from away down in the bosom of the waters. 
The evening was perfectly calm. The lake lay like a 
mirror before me. The leaves stood still on the trees, 
and all nature seemed sinking into stillness and re- 
pose. Auon, the voice of my guide rung out over 
the waters in simple song, as he' paddled his light 
canoe homeward. How it might have sounded in a 
concert hall, I will not pretend to say, but it floated 
full, and clear, and musical over the waters that night, 
and to me it seemed full of sweetness and harmony. 
I thought if the Swedish Nightingale had been out 
there, on that silent lake that calm evening, giving to 
the still air the sweet songs of her northern home, her 
voice would have entranced the listener, like the 
seraphs' hymns, as they minister in the choirs of 
heaven. How I should love to hear it swelling over 
the still waters of the Saranac, and dying away in far- 
off echoes along its woody shores. But those old for- 



128 Hills AND Lakes. 

ests will never hear her voice, nor their sleeping 
echoes waken to its harmony. Long years hence, the 
sweet voice of some other songstress may float over 
those slumbering waters, but those old j^rimeval trees 
Avill be gone. Broad meadows, waving grain, and 
rich pastures will be there, but these old forests will 
have been swept away. The songtress will sit on the 
doorsill of her own dwelling, on the margin of that 
beautiful lake, her kindred will be around her, and 
her song will be a lullaby to her little one that slum- 
bers upon her bosom. The wild deer, the moose, the 
catamount, and the panther will have disappeared, 
and that they ever existed there, will remain only in 
tradition. The iron horse will go thundering among 
those sequestered valleys, dragging his ponderous 
train, and snorting in the greatness of his strength. 

As we sat on that moss-covered boulder, watching 
the fire-flies flashing their tiny torches as they floated 
over the lake, dotting the shadows of night with spots 
of brightness, — gone almost as soon as seen, my guide, 
in his quiet way, began one of his curious but modest 
discourses, to which it was always a pleasant thing to 
listen. "I've often thought," said he, "how strange 
it was that this great country of America, equal as 



A Woodman's Notion of America. 129 

I've been told to one quarter of the earth, and may be 
more, should have lain here all alone for so many hun- 
dreds and thousands of years, and the people of the 
great world know nothing about it. I say the peoi^le 
of the great world, for I don't reckon the Ingens as 
people. There were many, very many tribes scattered 
all over, having their own hunting grounds, and livin' 
in the woods ; but they were wild like other animals, 
and savage as any other beasts of prey. They 
couldn't be called peoj)le, because, tho' may be they 
were human, yet they were wild men and women of 
the woods, having no knowledge of human ways, and 
no notion of improvin.' They hunted as the painter 
and the wolf hunts, only to supply nater, and while 
they lived together in tribes, — in that they did no 
more than the wolves do,- — 'they lived in huts, and so 
did the beaver. I've often thought I'd like to have 
seen this great country, when it was all wild and 
nateral like ; when from the shores of the old Bay 
State to the Mississippi, and from the cold north, 
away down to the Grulf of Mexico, the old forest 
stretched away, and in all this, not one civilized man 
could be found, — ^before any axe had broken the still- 
ness of the woods, — when no city or town, church or 

6* 



180 Hills and Lakes. 

farm-house, or green field could be seen; with, tlie 
great rivers windin', like gigantic serpents, along tlie 
deep valleys, and the wooded plains, upon whose 
majestic waters no ships spread their white sails, or 
or steamboats puffed their smoke. I've hearn tell of 
the great prairies, that stretch away from the Missis- 
sippi to the foot of the Kocky Mountains, that lay 
spread out there, like great a meadow, thousands of 
miles around 'em, without a fence or a road crossin' 
them. Squire, 'twould have been a sight to see those 
vast wastes, before the foot of the white man had 
crossed the great Father of "Waters, as I've hearn it 
called, all covered with tall grass, wavin' like an 
ocean of grain, and reaching out, away and away, 
hundreds of miles beyond where the eagle, in his 
highest flight, could see. I should like to have seen 
those vast droves of buffalo, fightin', and bellowin', 
and pursuin', and hustlin' each other, spreadin' out all 
over the plain like a mighty army of horned beasts ; 
and then, when some terror seized the herd, how the 
earth must have shook beneath the thunderin' hoofs 
of their flying hosts. I should like to have been the 
first white man that looked upon such a gigantic wil- 
derness as this country then was, — to have come up 



A Hunter's Wish. 131 

tlic Hudson from its mouth, away down bj the sea, — 
to have floated upon its waters, as they rolled then so 
solitary through the Highlands, and seen the painters 
and catamounts watchin' me from the cliffs, and the 
deer starin' at me from the level shore, — to have 
paddled up old Champlain and down the great St. 
Lawrence, and then to have skirted old Ontario, away 
up to where Niagara pours its mighty flood, thun- 
derin' and shakin' the earth, as it rushes down from 
the beetling cliffs, — to have coasted Lake Erie, and 
the other great seas that lay away out west,— to have 
crossed over to the Mississippi, and floated on its 
broad bosom back to the ocean ! That would have 
been a trip, Squire, worth a lifetime, and a thing for a 
man to tell his children of, of a Avinter's night, when 
he was old. I've oflen thought I'd like to leave the 
settlements and highways of life, even now, and stray 
away off among the solitudes of the Rocky Mountains, 
and the vast regions beyond them, and spend a few 
years beyond the footprints of a white man. I'd like 
to trap the beavers, and skrimmage with the grizzly 
bears, and hunt the elk, and foUer the other sports 
that belong to such a wild and far-off region. Old 
Pete Meigs and I often talked of such a trip, — -but the 



132 Hills akd Laees. 

old man had the weight of too maii}^ years on his 
shoulders, and I loved my wife and children too well 
to allow of our taking it. Yon and I, Squire, shan^t 
see it, but this country is spreadin' and spreadin' out, 
and the time will soon be, Avhen a man can go in a 
fortnight from the Bay State to the great ocean of the 
West, crossin' the great prairies, and dashing over the 
Eocky Mountains, down into the broad valleys be- 
yond them, where will be found great cities, rich 
farms, and millions of people." 

" Why," said I, " Tucker, you're getting poetical. 
You've furnished a theme for thought which we had 
better improve upon our bed of boughs in the shantee." 

In the morning we started down the Upper Sara- 
nac. This lake is the largest in all this region, being 
some fourteen or fifteen miles in length, by from one 
to three in breadth. In speaking of distances I do 
not profess to be precisely correct ; I give the best of 
my judgment only, and I have not myself the most 
perfect confidence in its accuracy. I am not, there- 
fore, to be held responsible for anj^ mistakes that may 
occur in my measurements. I judge of the size of 
the lakes by my eye, and of the distance from each 
other, by the time it took us to travel it. These are 



A DoG's Training. 133 

all my means of knowledge on the subject, and those 
who may come after me, must take the risk of my 
being mistaken. 

About half of a mile or more from the head of 
the lake is an island, containing, I should judge, 
about one hundred and fifty acres. It was covered 
with trees and underbrush, like the forest on the main 
land. We landed on this island, and found no diffi- 
culty in procuring fish for breakfast. 

" Now, Squire, I'll show you one of the knowing 
ways of Shack," said my guide, ''and some good 
sport into the bargain. I educated that dog myself, 
for the woods, and so long as he's with me, he ain't to 
be beat. You see he don't start off, after everything 
he sees, as a green one would do, and as he did, when 
I first took him with me into the woods to larn him 
his A B C's. He travels along with us, steady and 
regular as we go ourselves, doin' what he's bid, and 
no more. He listens to w^hat we say, and I'm blamed 
if I don't believe he's a notion of the meanin' of my 
huntin' stories, when I tell 'em to you. He's an ex- 
ample of what trainin' from a kind master, will make 
of an honest dog, and what improvement the animal 
can attain to." He called his dog, and going a few 



134 Hills and Lakes. 

rods to an elevated spot, waved his liand to him, and 
cried, " Hunt 'em up ! hunt 'em up ! Be oir, sir." 
Shack seemed to understand him perfectly, and away 
he dashed, coursing here and there, further and furtlier 
off, until we lost sight and sound of him in the woods. 
In a short time we heard the bark of Shack in pursuit 
of something, and in five minutes a buck came dash- 
ing round the end of the island where we were, hor- 
ribly frightened, with Shack a few rods behind him, 
yelping sharp and fierce, at every bound. We did 
not choose to spoil the sport by the use of our rifle, so 
we cheered on the dog, as he sped by us, and around 
they went again like coursers. The island was not 
large enough to allow the dog to get out of hearing, 
and it was truly an exciting thing, to hear his fierce 
sharp cry, and trace by the sound, the rapidity of the 
chase. I have stated before, that Shack was not so 
staunch and persevering a follower, as a dog of purer 
breed would have been, but so long as he would follow, 
his pace was tremendous, and the game before him 
always had an exceedingly busy time of it. Bound 
they came again, that deer and Shack, the former 
more frightened, and the latter more fierce, if possible. 
The deer had gained a trifle of his pursuer, but the 



The Deer Hunt. 185 

pace was evidently telling upon him. His tongue 
was out, and we heard his panting as he passed us. 
There was no speed lost by lofty bounding, as we 
often see in the deer, as he dashes through the forest ; 
no looking back over his shoulder, and waiving his 
white flag in defiance, as if glorying in the speed of 
his flight. But his nose pointed straight out one way, 
and his tail the other, as he stretched himself like a 
race-horse, in long low bounds, every muscle strained 
to escape. Again we cheered on the dog, and away 
they went in another heat round the island. Shortly 
after the cry of Shack rounded the lower end of the 
island, we saw the deer plunge into the water, and 
strike out for the main land. Shack, too, plunged 
after him in pursuit, but the buck was greatly his su- 
perior in swimming, and he soon gave over and re- 
turned to the island. We might easily have over- 
taken the deer with our canoe, but we had no occasion 
for venison, and we let him go. We watched him as 
he swam manfully for the shore, leaving a long wake 
in the still water behind him. I saw him through my 
glass as he waded slowly to the land and steal quietly 
into the woods, seemingly wearied enough, but rejoic- 
ing in his escape. 



XIV. 

A. Sporting Excuksion. — A Forest Chase — The Music of thb 
Hounds. — The Man who Xilled the Panther and the bio 

BUCE. 

We rigged a busli sail and started before a liglit 
breeze, for another and larger island two or three 
miles distant. 

" The way old Pete Meigs and I came to be 
acquainted," said my gnide, as we floated down the 
lake, " or rather the reason why he took me to his 
feelins, was this : — A great many years ago, two gen- 
tlemen came from York city to Plattsburgh, to go 
over to the Shazee, to fish and hunt. I was about 
eighteen years old then, but I'd grown up by the side 
of the old man, and though I was a tough specimen 
for my age, he seemed to think I was a child still. It 
warn't then as it is now. The clearins had'nt pushed 
back the "woods, as they've since done, and the State 



A Spoeting Excursion. 137 

had'nt built stone houses away up here, to keep bad 
men in, from doin' mischief. The place where Clin- 
ton Prison stands, was ten good miles outside of a 
fence, and a man had to travel fifteen long ones, out- 
side of a road or clearin', to get to the Shazee. Those 
men from the city, were green enough in our forest 
ways, but they wanted to learn, and had the real grit 
in 'em, too, only it wanted bringin' out. They'd been 
raised in the city, in a human way, and without bein' 
spoiled, and did'nt calculate they know'd more, and 
were better'n everybody else. I was down at Platts- 
burgh when they came there, and hearin' them talk- 
in' about a guide, I told 'em of old Pete Meigs. I 
knew the old man was home, for 1 talked with him 
on my way, in the morning. They got a team, and I 
went with them to old Pete's, and we struck a bar- 
gain, he to go with 'em as a guide, and I as a kind of 
pack-horse, to carry the provisions, and the other 
things needful. I did'nt take my rifle that trip, for 
the Yorkers being unused to travelin' in the woods, 
old Pete and I, had to tote the fixins. Next morning 
bright and early, we started for the Shazee. We had 
fifteen long miles afore us, without a path, over high 
hills and down into the deep valleys, crossin' the 



138 Hills and Lakes. 

streams, and stumbling among tlie tangle bmsli and 
boulders. If the Yorkers war'nt tired enough when 
we got to the lake, you may shoot me. We'd been 
all day about that job, and the sight of the waters 
laying there so bright and still, was a pleasant thing 
to their eyes. We did'nt mind it much, because we 
were used to it. With us, a day's work was a day's 
work, whether in the woods or in the fields. Old 
Pete and I put up a shantee for the Yorkers, and 
made them a nice bed of boughs with a smudge before 
it, to keep off the musquitos and black flies ; we left 
them sleeping sound enough, and started to procure 
a mess of trout for supper. 

" The old man had drawn his canoe away out of 
the water, a month or two before, and hid it away 
among the brush. From some accident, — may be the 
lightning, the woods had got on fire, and instead of 
his canoe, we found only a few charred and useless 
chunks. May be the old man didn't swear some, but 
t'want no use. The canoe was clean spoilt, and any 
amount of swearin' wouldn't mend it. It only cost us 
a hard day's work to make another, which, by the 
way, we had finished on the next day but one. But 
for all the loss of the canoe, we did'nt go without our 



The Deer Hounds. 139 

supper ; for standiu' on the rocks, we got trout enough 
in a few minutes ; and when the gentlemen woke up, 
we had 'em ready cooked after the ways of a hunter. 
The way them trout disappeared from before the York- 
ers, was a sight to see, Old Pete had two of the finest 
deer hounds I ever happened to see, — especially an 
old one that the old man called Eoarer. He was a 
great tan-colored animal, Avith a broad chest, and a 
mouth like an oven, with great loose lips hangin' 
down from his jaws, and ears like an elephant's. His 
voice was like a trumpet, and the way he'd make the 
woods ring with his music, was a pleasant thing to 
hear. These dogs he had taken with him, to show 
the gentlemen what sport was in the Shatagee 
country. 

" The next morning we were up by the dawn. 
Our Yorkers were fresh and fierce for the sights and 
fun of the woods. Everything around was new to 
'em. The thousand voices that one hears in the for- 
est, were things for them to admire and talk about. 
We concluded to have a chase the first thing in the 
morning, not to run the deer into the lake, for our 
canoe was gone, and we couldn't catch 'em there ; so 
we started to drive the ridges, as we call it. The old 



140 Hills AND Lakes. 

man knew tlie woods like a book, and could always 
tell by the make of a country, where away a deer 
would run, when pressed by the dogs. ISTow, Squire, 
a deer has ways of his own, which a man who has 
lived among 'em and hunted 'em, can understand. 
When pressed, he will take to a ridge, and. follow it 
till he's tired, and then he'll take to the water if he 
can, to throw off the dogs. 

'' Well, before the sun was up, we started out 
back of the lake, and old Pete stationed the Yorkers 
some forty rods apart, on a low ridge that stretched 
away from the lake, far into the woods, at a spot 
where he knew the deer would be most likely to pass. 
Having placed them to suit him, he lent me his rifle, 
and took me, may be a quarter of a mile beyond, 
and placing me near a great oak at the head of a 
broad, shallow ravine, left me to lay on the dogs. He 
hadn't no gi^eat notion then of my merits, as a hunter, 
or as a marksman, and I've allers believed he placed 
me there, more to get me out of the way, and keepin' 
me from spoilin' sport for the Yorkers, than anything 
else, for from what I've learned of the ways of the 
animal and the woods since, there warn't much danger 
of a deer's comin' near me. 'Now,' said he, 'Joe 



The Painter. 141 

understand, we're here arter deer, and not arter part- 
ridges or sqiiin-els, and you're not to spoil sport by 
shootin' anything short of a painter or a big buck ;' 
and th5 old man grinned, as he started off with his 
hounds. 

" He hadn't been out of sight long, and I'd seen 
'twas all right with the rifle, when I heard a scratchin' 
like among the branches of the great oak, six or eight 
rods from which I was standing. Looking over that 
way. Squire, I'm blamed if I didn't see, laying 
stretched out along one of the great branches that put 
out towards me from the trunk of that old oak, may 
be thirty feet from the ground, a great painter, lookin' 
with most villainous fierceness straight at me. That 
was the first of these varmints that I'd ever seen alive 
in the woodsj and the way I kind a crept all over. 
warn't pleasant. I was standin' by the side of a maple 
v/hich was partly between me and the animal, and I 
warn't sorry it was so. I don't know as the painter 
meant me any harm. It's very likely he'd made up 
his mind to let me alone, if I'd let him alone ; but I 
didn't like the way he eyed me. I drew up old Pete's 
rifle by the side of the tree, and my hand shook some 
as I sighted at his head. I wasn't fool enough to fire 



Hf Hills ANt> Lakes, 

till mj hand was steady, for I knew if I was calm, I 
conld put a ball between his eyes from where I stood^ 
and no mistake. I sighted him close and steady at 
last, and. pulled. The painter leaped straight towardsj 
and fell a few yards from me, dead, with his skull 
shattered by my ball. ' There,' said I to myself, as I 
fell to reloading my riflej ' old Pete didn't think when 
he told me to fire only at a painter, or a big buck, 
that that cussed critter was about,' I was a big feelin' 
man then, Squire, and about the proudest one in the 
Shatagee country. 

" I was examinin' the beast, when 1 heard far off 
in the woods, the voice of old Eoarer, deep and 
drawn-out-like at first; after a moment I heard it 
again. The time between his baying became shorter 
and shorter, till the dogs both broke out in a fierce 
continuous cry, and I knew the game was up and 
away. I needn't tell you, Squire, of the music there 
is in the voice of a pair of stag hounds, in the deep 
forests of a still morning. How it echoes among the 
mountains, and swells over the quiet lake ; how it 
comes up like a trumpet from the forest dells, and 
glancin' away upward, seems to fill the whole air with 
its joyous notes. The dogs took a turn away to the 



TheDeebHunt. 143 

westward. The sound of the chase grew fainter and 
fainter, as it receded, until it was lost to the ear in the 
distance, and the low voice of the morning breezs 
whisperin' among the forest leaves, alone was heard. 
After a few minutes, I heard, faint and far off, the 
music of the chase again, swellin' up in the distance, 
and then dyin' away like the sound of a flute in the 
distance, when the night air is stilL Louder and 
more distinct it came, as the dogs coursed over a dis- 
tant ridge. I stood, as I said, at the head of a shal- 
low but broad ravine, or rather valley ; to the right 
and left, the ridge stretched away like a horse-shoe, 
leavin' within its curve a densely-wooded hollow. I 
heard the hounds as they crossed this ridge far below 
me, loud and joyous, makin' the woods vocal with the 
melody of their voices. Again the music died away, 
as they plunged into the hollow way before me, until 
it seemed to come up like the faint voice of an echo, 
from that leafy delL Again it swelled louder, and 
fiercer, as the chase changin' its direction swept up the 
valley. Louder and louder grew the music ; I heard 
the measured bounds of a deer, as he dashed up the 
ridge on which I stood, some forty rods from me, and 
wheelin' suddenly from the direction in which he was 



144 Hills and Lakes. 

goin', an enormous buck broke, with the speed of a 
race-liorse from the thicket of underbrush that had 
concealed hhu, directly towards where I was standin'. 
I was ready, and as he came within a few rods of me, 
I fired. He leaped high into the air, and fell to the 
ground. My huntin' knife was soon passed across his 
throat, and his struggles were over. It was a noble 
buck. I have been a hunter ever since, and I have 
seen few larger than the one I shot that morning. 

" In the meantime, the dogs swept by me in full 
cry towards where the Yorkers were stationed. It 
seemed that two deer had been started by the hounds? 
and had ran together, until they struck the ridge on 
which I stood, when one had turned suddenly from 
his course, and the other fled forward. I heard two 
shots in quick succession. In a few minutes the 
music of the dogs ceased, and I knew the chase was 
over. I passed down to the Yorkers, and found them 
rejoicin' over a fine doe they had slain. Both had 
fired upon her — the one woundin', and the other killin' 
her. They supposed she had passed me, and took 
it for gTanted I had missed her. Old Pete came in. 
He had heard my first shot, and supposed of course, I 
had been firin' at some triflin' game. The old man 



<-'^- 




JOE, SAID HE AS HE HEI.D OUT HIS HAND, SKIN iME IF 
YOU HAVEN'T DONE IT. Page 145. 



The Death. 145 

joined the Yorkers, in laughing at me. ' Come,' said 
I, as I took him bj the arm, ' go with me, and I'll 
show you what a hunter can do.' We went up to 
where the buck lay, and you ought to have seen the 
old man*s eje& open, as he rolled him over. ' Joe,' 
said he, as he held out his hand, * skin me, if yea 
haven't done it I've been after that buck for two 
years. Why, he's the old one of the Shatagee.' I 
led him to where lay the painter, ' There,' said I, 'you 
told me to kill a painter, and a big buck, and I've 
done it.' The old man threw his arms around me, 
and from that time, I was to him as a son. Many and 
many's the time I've hearn him tell that story, and 
been pointed out by him as the man that shot the 
painter and the big buck." 

7 



XV. 

TouoH Yarns. — A Shelthk in a Storm. — An astonished Bbak. — 

An Uninvited Guest, and his Unceremonious Expulsion. 

" Tucker," said I, as lie finislied his story, " it's 
my opinion you sometimes slioot witli something be- 
sides a rifle, — what we call, in the city, a long bow." 

" Squire," he replied, '' I won't pretend not to take 
your meanin', nor find fault with you for expressin' 
it ; but what I tell you I've seen, and done myself, 
you may set down as a sure and certain thing. I 
don't deny, that down in the settlements, among 
fellers that think themselves tall timber, I stretch 
matters a little, and make things look a good deal 
bigger than the real facts will warrant. I've told 'em 
about killin' a buck that weighed four hundred, that 
had, may be, fifteen or twenty prongs to a horn ; but 
that was always by way of taking the starch out of 
fellers that pretended to know the ways of the woods, 



A LoKG Bow. 147 

and lied out of wliole cloth. Let me tell yoUj Squire, 
twenty odd year in tlie Shatagee country^ and among 
the Adirondacks, brings a man acquainted with a 
good many curious facts to talk about, and he needn't 
tell anything but the simple truth, to get up a pretty 
tall name for shootin', as you say, with something be- 
sides a rifle. Between old Pete Meigs and I, we never 
stretched the honest truth. Any man that went with 
him into the woods, might be sure that, strange as the 
story might be the old man told, it was gospel truth. 
He was proud of his knowledge of the ways of wild 
animals, and the things he'd seen in the woods, and 
he was principled agin deceivin' the man that trusted 
him. No man ever came back, after a tramp with 
him in the forest, that wasn't wiser, and that in solid 
truths, than when he started. But in the settlements, 
it was another thing. He didn't mind drawing a long 
bow there, by way of stuf&ng the green ones, and the 
way he did it was a thing to laugh at, 

'* I mind once we Avas down to Plattsburgh, and 
stayed all night at a tavern there. In the evenin' 
some fellows came in, that had been over to the 
Shazee. They'd done pretty well, considerin' they 
didn't know much about woodcraft, and the stories 



148 Hills Ai^b Lakss* 

tliej told were amazin'. Tliej made a set at the old 
man, to draw him out. It warn't very difficult to 
start liim, and the way he went ahead was surprisin'. 
Knowing the old man's truthfulness in the woods, it 
was a new thing to hear him tell such whopping lies 
about fishin' and huntin', but a sly wink told me they 
wan't meant for me, and I knew it was all right, but 
such stories. Squire, I never happened to hear before* 
1 mind one he toldj by way of a wind up, was this : 
*I was,' said the old man, 'four years ago, away up 
among the Saranacs, and had strayed away four or 
five miles from my shantee, when there came on the 
orfullest storm of rain, and w^ind, and thunder and 
lightnin' that ever mortal man heard tell on, — ^you 
ought to have been up there, boys, to have hearn the 
thunder boomin' and roarin' through the heavens, and 
peelin' and echoin', and knockin' about among the 
Adirondacks,— to have seen the lightnin' flashin' and 
flamin' along the ground, and dartin' down from the 
clouds into the tall trees, and smashin' them into a 
thousand splinters, — to've hearn the timber crashin' 
and thunderin' to the ground, as if all nater was goin' 
to ruin in one universal smash. Well, if I warn't 
scared that time, you may shoot me. So, lookin' 



The Storm. 149 

across a low swampy joiece of ground, I saw the great 
holler trunk of a sickamore that had fallen, and I put 
across, thinkin' I could crawl in there, and be safe 
from the rain and fallin' timber. As I struggled 
through the swamp, I sunk knee deep into a kind of 
clay, white as paint, and my boots were plastered by 
it, as if I'd run my legs into a tub of batter. I crawled 
away into the log, and let me tell you, boys, it warn't 
a bad place to be in just then. I lay there snug 
enough for about half an hour, the storm ragin' all the 
time harder'n harder, and as I heard it roarin' and 
surgin' around me, I made up my mind that a holler 
log was a good place in sich a storm. All at once the 
hole I came in at was darkened, and something came 
gruntin' and squeezin' in towards where I lay. ' ' Human 
nater !" tho't I, '' what's that?" After a little, I saw 
by the light that streamed in, in little streaks by him, 
that 'twas a huge bear. I wasn't scared, for I knew 
he didn't know I was there, and besides, a bear allers 
goes into a holler log backwards, so that the end he 
bites with wasn' towards me. I didn't care about 
havin' a fight with him just then, and if I killed him 
in the log, I didn't exactly see how I was to get out 
by him. So I drew up my legs, as he came backin' 



150 Hills and Lakes. 

up towards me, and when he got about near enough, 
I straitened out ; and the way I sent my boots agin 
his back settlements, was a thing to wonder at. K 
ever a dum animal was astonished, I reckon it was 
that bear ; and the way he put for daylight, was curi- 
ous. As he grunted and hustled towards the outside 
of the log, I followed on my elbers and rump, and the 
kicks I gave him in the stern, shot him like a cannon 
ball, about twenty feet down the banks. " There," said 
I, " you darned black, stern goin', round about circum- 
stance, be off to your own hum, and let honest 
people's houses alone." He didn't stop to make any 
answer, nor to ask any questions, but put out at his 
best gait for the Shatagee, and it's my opinion he 
never know'd what it was that booted him out of that 
holler log. He was done with the Saranac lakes, for 
he was shot the next day, forty miles away down by 
the Lower Shatagee. I know it was the same bear, 
for there was the white prints of my clayey boots on 
his rump, plain as a pike staff. If you don't believe 
it, you may ask Joe Tucker there, (pointin' to me,) for 
he's the man that shot him.' I didn't, of course, con- 
tradict the story, and the fellers standin around, took 
it all for gospel. But many's the time I've quizzed 



The Woods. 151 

old Pete Meigs about tlie bear, whose rump lie painted 
with bis boots, in the boiler log." 

Our course kept us but a few rods from tbe shore, 
and we could look into the little bays and inlets as 
we passed along. There are many lovely spots along 
the coast of the Upper Saranac, which, had we not 
seen many others in our forest route as lovely, would 
have claimed a more careful survey. The beauty of 
the scenery around these lakes, to be appreciated, must 
be seen. More than that, it must be seen by those 
who have a taste for the woods — who love to be 
sometimes alone, beyond the hum of the thousand 
voices, that are heard in the thoroughfares of life — • 
the tramp, tramp of moving thousands — to be awav. 
among nature's unshorn, as well as unadorned loveli- 
ness ; to hear her, unawed by the sights and sounds 
of civilization, talking (as my guide termed it) to 
herself. They must be men of patience and some 
nerve, who are, for the sake of the pleasure, willing 
to submit to some privation, to encounter some weari- 
ness, and much discomfort. The student, whose frame 
is enervated, by the corrupted and heated atmosphere 
of a city, and the debilitating influences of his vocation, 
will find himself growing stronger, his frame more 



152 Hills and Lakes. 

vigorous, his step lighter every day, that he breathes 
the fresh pure air of the lakes and mountains. Every 
drop of sweat, forced from his pores by the weariness 
of travel in the woods, will carry off some particle of 
disease. He will sleep calmly, and sweetly, on his 
bed of boughs at night, and rise in the morning, full 
of freshness and strength. His food will be pleasant, 
and his digestion good. He will be astonished at the 
increase of his powers of consumption, and after a few 
weeks of hard work, but full of enjoyment in the 
woods, he will come out a better and a wiser man, 
with renewed vigor, and a longer lease of life. 



XVI. 

SiQN3 OF RAIN. —The Tree Frog. — A rainy day in the Forest 

The breeze had now floated us to the second 
island. "We sliot into a little bay, and remained 
for a sliort time, admiring the scenery around us. 
" Squire," said my guide, as we lay in this little bay, 
enjoying its cool shades, " it always seems to me that 
a man thinks more and better away off in the woods, 
among the wild kritters and nateral things, than he 
does in the settlements or in the towns. That he 
comes to be what you call a philosopher — a sort of 
nateral poet — and though he mayn't write verse or 
string rhymes, yet there's real poetry in his heart and 
in his feelins'. He sees things that sets him a reflect- 
in', and makes him inquire into their nater, and it's 
thinkin'. and inquirin', that makes people wise. Ex- 
perience is a great thing everywhere, but a man won't 

7* 



154 Hills and Lakes. 

improve mucli, if lie don't look into tlie reason of 
things that he sees around him. Anybody out here 
in the woods, when he builds his shantee, would cover 
it with bark so as to shed rain, if he saw a black 
cloud in the south-west, and saw the lightnin' playin' 
around its edges ; but it takes a 'cute observer to look 
into a cloudless sky, and say it will rain afore morn- 
ing, or it will be a wet day to-morrow, and have his 
sayin' come out true. 

"You, now, though you may be a smart lawyer at 
home, don't know that we shall want a shelter afore 
mornin', and won't leave it until noon to-morrow, un- 
less we agree to be out in the rain — ^but I know it, 
and if you wan't to know how I know it, I'll tell you. 
Just listen to the tree-frog, how merrily he pipes all 
along the shore, up among the branches of the scrub- 
by trees that grow out of the rocks ; well, he says, 
' it'll rain.' Listen again to the loon — ^hear, with what 
a loud, clear voice he speaks, and how it quavers and 
sinks away into silence ; you havn't heard that voice 
since we left Indian Lake. That loon says, 'it will 
rain.' Hark again, and you'U hear not a rustling among 
the leaves and branches of the trees, but a kind of 
deep far-off moaning ; not the creaking of one tall tree 



Signs of Rain. 165 

against another — a souu.d ttat don't seem exactly to 

be a sound either — a sound that we seem to hear but 

can't describe ; you can't tell what way it comes from, 

whether from the right hand or left, that seems to be 

far ofl^ and yet you can't say it isn't close by ; yet it's 

in the forest, all around you. Well, that mysterious 

voice says, ^ it will rain.' Look at that brood of young 
ducks, scampering about, dipping their heads under 

the water, and lettin' it run down their backs — see the 
old one, how often she sits up on eend, and flaps her 
jvings, as if about flyin' away — those ducks are sayin', 
plain as day, 'it will rain.' Look at that baswood 
tree on the point before you — see how fan-like it lifts 
its leaves, turnin' their under side to the sun, makin' 
the tree-top shine all over like silver ; that tree is 
tellin' us ' it will rain.' Even Shack, there, in the 
bow of the canoe, by his uneasy motions, curling him- 
eelf up in a heap at the bottom, and then as soon as 
he's fairly settled, gettin' onto his feet again, and 
nosin' out over the water, he says ' it'll rain.' 

" Now, Squire, it's by observin' and puttin' things 
together that a woodman comes to understand such 
matters. I don't consider such knowledge any great 
thirds, but h sho-vs that all the larnin' in the world 



156 Hills and Lakes. 

ain't found in books and isn't got in the colleges. A. 
greenhorn would be just as likely to hunt with the 
wind, as against it, and wonder why he didn't get 
sight of a deer. I could tell him why ; it's because a 
deer can smell a man twenty, and may be forty rod 
when he hunts with the wind, and will get out of his 
way ; while he who hunts agin the wind, the deer 
won't smell him at all, and he knocks him over. You 
see how suddenly that brood of young ducks have 
disappeared. Well, a man not used to their ways 
would say, they hid away because they saw us ; but 
when I see that, I look round for a bald eagle, and 
he's sure to be soarin', like that one yonder, in the 
sky. These things, as I said, ain't much of them- 
selves ; but it's such small things that set men to 
thinkin', and studyin', and at last rolls up into a heap 
of knowledge. It may be, it wouldn't be worth much 
to trade on, in the cities ; but it's a good thing out 
here in the Shatagee, and don't hurt a man anywhere. 
I've hearn it said, that a great many years ago, a 
man was restin' himself under the shade of an apple 
tree, when one of the apples fell to the ground, that it 
set him to thinkin' why it should fall down to the 
ground, instead of upwards, towards the sky, and that 



The Power of Thought. 157 

by thinkin', and observin', and studyin', be built up a 
great system of pbilosopby tbat bas ever since been 
taugbt in tbe scbools, and given to tbe world a deal 
of knowledge it didn't possess before. It's tbinkin' 
and studyin' and observin,' tbat made tbe steam en- 
gine, and tbe telegrapb, and tbe locomotive, and rail- 
roads, and steamboats, and tbe spinin' macbines, and 
iron plougbs, and many otber useful contrivances, 
tbat belong to tbe times we live in. Tbese tbings 
don't concern me mucb, for my ways ain't like tbe 
ways of most men. I love tbe woods better'n tbe 
settlements or tbe cities. I don't need but little to 
live on, and I don't want to be ricb ; but tbey belp 
tbe world along amazin'ly, and I like to see it. Tbe 
Sbatagee Woods will last as long as I sball, and I 
sball stay among 'em ; but people tbat don't like tbe 
woods, tbey belp to a livin', and if tbey want to go 
abead, tbey can go. 

" I mind once, I was over on tbe Lower Sbatagee, 
witb a man from Montreal. He wasn't a bunter, nor 
mucb given to fisbin' ; but be'd a likin' for tbe woods, 
and I paddled bim round tbe lake for a week. He 
went knockin' tbe stones to pieces, and lookin' into 
tbe nater of all tbe rocks about, and studyin' tbe 



158 Hills AND Lakes. 

flowers, and pressin' tliem between the leaves of a 
great book. He didn't care mucli about tbe deer, but 
lie cracked away witb bis double barrel, at every 
wood-bird be could find. When he got what he 
called a specimen, he took oflP the skin, and stowed it 
away, as he said, to be stuffed when he got home. 
Well, what I was goin' to tell you is, we was out one 
day on the lake ; it was warm, and the sun shone 
down clear, and bright, and hardly a breath of air 
was stirrin'. On our return to the shantee at noon, 
he looked at a machine he had hung up against the 
poles, and says he, * Friend Tucker, there's rain a 
brewin', and you'd better mend the roof of your wig- 
wam.' I hadn't noticed the signs, and how he came 
to know there was going to be a storm, beat me. 
Well, I went out, and looked about me, and listened^ 
and sure enough, there was no mistakin' the appear- 
ance of things. JSTow the machine he looked at, told 
him as plain as A B C, what weather was ahead. It's 
name I disremember, but you, may be, know all about 
it. I allers thought it took a good deal of studyin' 
and lookin' into the nater of things, to invent a ma- 
chine to foretell a storm." 

We shot out from the little bay, and paddled on. 



■REPARATIONS FOR RaIN. 159 

^appuy a liglit, pleasant breeze was blowing down 
tlie lake, and bolding a bush, with the butt end on the 
bottom of the boat, so that the breeze would strike it, 
was my part of the labor. In the afternoon a haze 
gathered in the air ; a veil, of thinnest gauze, seemed 
to be drawn over the heavens ; a halo surrounded the 
sun ; the tree-frog sang louder than ever ; the duck- 
lings sported more joyously, and all the signs spoken 
of by my guide, became more strikingly manifest. 
We landed, between four and five o'clock, on the third 
island, and set about constructing a shanty, which. 
would afford shelter from the rain, which it was now 
certain would visit us. We selected a site by the 
trunk of a large tree that had fallen. Having pro- 
cured two forked saplings, of some three inches in 
diameter, we fastened them securely in the ground, 
about ten feet from the log, and eight feet from each 
other. Across these, in the crotches, we laid a pole, 
some five feet from the ground, and then placed an- 
other, from each crotch to the log, for rafters ; across 
these again, at a distance of two feet from each otlier, 
we laid other poles. My guide peeled bark from the 
birch trees around us, with which we made a roof, as 
impervious to the rain, as one of tiles. The ends we 



160 Hills and Lakes. 

built up witTi bouglis, to keep off the lateral dampnesg. 
Behind the log, we scooped out a rude trench, to 
carry off the water that should drip from the eaves 
of our dwelling ; thus, in two hours, we had construct- 
ed a secure shelter from the rain, let it come when it 
might. We gathered large quantities of hemlock and 
spruce boughs for bedding, and prepared wood to 
keep alive our fire. This was necessary, not for 
warmth, but to keep the musquitos and black flies 
from devouring us. 

Having finished our shantee, my guide, with Shack 
at his heels, started towards the interior of the island. 
This is the largest island of the Upper Saranac. I 
soon heard him ordering Shack to " hunt 'em up," as 
I have described. He returned, and we paddled 
quietly down the lake, to a point fifty rods below, 
where a low ridge terminated in a point, some distance 
from the fine of the shore. Here we shot close under 
the bank, beneath the branches of a gnarled birch, 
that grew out almost horizontally from the rocks. It 
was half a mile to the main land from where we lay, 
and it was the narrowest part of the channel which 
divides the island from it. 

We had lain here but a few minutes, when we 



Catching a Deek. 161 

heard tlie bark of Sliack, and presently a deer went 
crashing through the nnderwood, a short distance from 
as, with Shack in close and hot pursuit. Bound the 
island they swept, and we lost the cry of the dog in 
the distance. In the course of fifteen minutes, we 
heard him again on his return. We heard the deer 
dashing through the brush, with Shack a few rods 
behind him. The deer passed us like the wind, and 
at the point behind which we lay, plunged into the 
lake. "We wanted that deer, and giving him a few 
rods start, we shot out in pursuit. Before leaving our 
shantee, my guide had cut a long slim pole, like a 
fishing rod, and withing the end, formed a running 
noose, large enough to throw over the head of a deer, 
and threw it into the canoe, as we dashed from the 
shore. I have before described a chase after a deer in 
the water, and will not re|)eat the description here. 
This time, however, we were in earnest. As we ap- 
proached the game, my guide threw the noose of the 
withe over the animal's head, and pulled him, strug- 
gling desperately within reach, drew his hunting knife 
across his throat, and in a few minutes his struggles 
were over. We hauled him into the canoe, and 
paddled back. We found Shack sitting on his 



162 Hills and Lakes. 

haunclies, watching us calmly from the point, and lie 
trotted gaily along the bank, as we floated to our 
landing-place by our shantee. 

The evening was close and dark, save when the 
millions of fire-flies flashed their little torches over 
the water. The tree-frogs quavered vociferously all 
around us, and the old owl hooted mournfully from 
his perch in the dense foliage, as we lay down to 
sleep. About two o'clock in the morning I awoke, 
and the rain was pattering steadily on the roof of our 
shantee, and dripping in big drops from the leaves of 
the trees. It was a soothing and pleasant sound, the 
steady falling of the rain on our shantee, and among 
the dead leaves. The tree-frog had ceased his music, 
and all the wild forest notes were hushed. I glided 
away into slumber again, and slept an hour later in 
the morning, than I had done before, since I entered 
the woods. My guide was up when I awoke, and busy 
preparing breakfast. He had, while I slept, caught 
some fine trout, which, with a venison steak, he was 
broiling on the coals. The rain was still falling steadily, 
— ^the clouds were sweeping low, and wet and heavy 
above us before a steady but slight southern breeze, 
and all around us betokened a wet, unpleasant day. 



XVII. 



A Rainy Morning. — Clearing xjp a new Country. — A Half- 
breed AND HIS Family. 



We sat after breakfast, in the morning, under the 
shelter of our homely roof, smoking our pipes, and 
listening to the small rain pattering upon our covering 
of bark, and the big drops rustling among the forest 
leaves. " A rainy day isn't a bad thing. Squire, for 
you and I here," said Tucker. " It gives us a resting 
spell, and shows us the forest in a new dress. We've 
worked pretty hard since we started, and want a little 
breathing time. To me it ain't much, for I'm used to 
it, and a few days travel I don't mind ; but you've 
been raised in a city, where people ain't used to such 
jaunts as this, and their timbers won't stand, at first, 
what mine will. You've stood it bravely, and I'll 
own up, that when we started, I thought I'd stretch 
your legs for you, in a way that would make you give 



164 Hills and Lakes. 

in ; but I havn't done it, and I ain't sure that I can do 
it now. You seem to have a nateral way for tlie 
woods, that ain't common for the city people." 

"Why," said I, "Tucker, though I live in the 
city, *and have done so for eight years, yet I was raised 
in the woods, and brought up in a region almost as 
wild as your own Shatagee. I remember the time 
when I could be sure of a deer in half an hour, from 
the time I left my father's door. I have caught many 
a one in a lake with a canoe, as we caught that one 
last night, and have, hundreds of times, listened to the 
music of my own hounds on the mountains. Bears 
and panthers I knew nothing about, because they did 
not frequent that part of the country. I remember 
when about the Crooked Lake, in old Steuben, was a 
dense wilderness, as it is about the Lower Shatagee 
now, and my father's log house and clearing, was the 
only one for fifteen miles along its shore, — ^when we 
had to go eight miles for a doctor, and seven miles to 
a mill. If we wanted to see a neighbor, we had to 
travel three miles to do it, and my father's house stood 
at the end of the road. I am younger than you are. 
Tucker, and when I left that country, eight years ago, 
it took a pretty tough, long-legged man, to tire me out 



A Bainy Morning. 16S 

in the woods. It's a rich farming region now, and 
railroads, and plank roads, and turnpikes^ cross eacli 
other every few miles*" 

" Give me your hand, Squire," he replied ; " I 
didn't mean to ask your history, but I'm blamed if I 
havn't tho't all along, that you knowed more about 
the woods and wild things than can be learned in a 
city. I don't wonder that you want to get back, once 
in a while, to your old friends, the trees, the lakes, and 
the streams, and hear the voices of the things that you 
heard in your young days. It makes a man young 
again, and brings back the old thoughts and affections 
of his boyhood. How curious it is to watch the 
growth of a country that's young and wild. I ain't 
talkin' now about the nations, nor governments; I 
don't pretend to know anything about what larned 
people call the wealth of nations; I ain't speakin' 
about the growth of commerce, or the spread of trade, 
or the increase of manufactered things ; but I mean a 
new country, where the woods stretch out every way, 
and are occupied only by wild animals, and may be, 
now and then, by a stray hunter, like old Pete Meigs 
and me. 

" Some bold-hearted Yankee marches into the 



166 Hills and Lakes. 

woods, witli his axe on one shoulder, and his rifle on 
the other, and falls to choppin' down the great trees* 
Presently there's a spot in the forest that the sun 
shines down on, bright and clear. The logs and brush 
are burnt up, and a field of grain waves in the summer 
winds. After a little, you'll see a log-house, and a 
woman sittin' on the door-sill, with a brood of hardy, 
tough Httle ones, tumblin' about her. You'll hear the 
blows of an axe, as the settler battles with the tall 
forest trees, and you'll hear them through the day, 
crashin' and thunderin' to the ground. You'll hear 
the bark of a house dog, — ^the cacMin' of fowls, and 
the quackin' of ducks and geese. You'll hear the 
ding-dong of a cowbell in the woods, and the tinklin' 
of a sheepbell along the fences. These are new sounds 
in the forest, and the old woods may know by them, 
that their time is come. Away off, may be miles 
away, another hardy settler puts up his cabin, and 
makes war on the ancient forest trees. Year after 
year, the woods are crowded back by the fences, till 
settlement meets settlement, and the old primeval 
things have passed away. Painted houses have suc- 
ceeded the log cabins; flocks and herds, feeding in 
rich pastures, are everywhere seen, — ^the sound of the 



Clearin(^ up a New Country. 167 

woodman's axe is still, — ^the crash of tlie fallin' trees is 
no longer heard, — the blazing fallows, sendin' their 
dense smoke curlin' and wreathin' to the clouds, are 
things that have ceased to be ; for the old woods have 
been swept away. The ding-dong of the cowbells has 
died away, for the wearers of them no longer wander 
in the forest. Stage coaches are rushin' along the 
highways, and may be an ingine thunders along a 
railroad through the valleys. All these things I've 
seen in the Lower Shatagee country. I went out 
there last spring, and as I stood on the brow of a high 
hill, lookin' away off over what, when I was a boy, 
was one great forest, from old Champlain clear away 
to the St. Lawrence, — I saw nothin' but great farms, 
and fine houses, and abundance of cattle and sheep. I 
counted ten carriages on the highways in sight at 
once, and I saw the long line of a railroad, stretchin', 
hke a great snake, across the country, and an ingine, 
dashin' like a maddened war-horse, with its long train 
of cars, off towards Eouse's Point. 

"It's only the rocky, and barren nater of the 

country around us, that saves this wild region from 

what I call the desolation of civilization, and the 

, mighty changes it works on the face of a country ; 



i6S Hills ajstd La^'es. 

and I'm glad it's so. There should be left, some broad 
sweep of wild woods, where a man can get of the 
sight and sounds of the clearin's, and look upon nater, 
as it came from the hands of the great Creator, with 
all the wild animals, and nateral things that belonged 
to it in the times of old." 

About eleven o'clock, the clouds began to break 
away — the rain gradually ceased, and by noon, blue 
spots of clear sky were visible. We struck out across 
the lake, to a small island four or five miles distant. 
After resting awhile, and coursing a deer with Shack, 
twice round the island, we paddled on to the foot of 
the lake. Here we hid away our canoe, and travelled 
across a low ridge to a small lake, the outlet of which, 
with those of two others, formed Stony Brook, one of 
the hundred streams that go to make up the upper 
portion of the Eacket river. On the banks of this 
little lake, we found the hut of a half-breed, who, with 
his wife, and two dirty half-clad children, the oldest 
six and the youngest two years of age, with as many 
shaggy, ill'looking curs, lived a solitary life during 
the summer months, away off here, on the banks of 
these sequestered waters. As we approached the 
cabin, the two curs flew yelping and barking towards 



The Half-breed. 169 

us, but the sight of Shack's ivory, as he grinned 
threateningly at them, seemed to cool their courage, 
and the J slunk away to their kennel. The woman 
met us at the door, gazing stupidly at us. She under- 
stood no English, while her mongrel French and In- 
dian was equally unintelligible to us. She was cer- 
tainly no beauty, nor yet remarkable for cleanliness 
of person, with a face and neck the color of sole 
leather, and hair half-combed, tied in a loose knot at 
the back of her head. Her husband, if such he was, 
we saw in his canoe, near the opposite side of the lake. 
Towards sundown he returned. He spoke broken 
English, and we understood each other very well. 
We slept in his cabin that night ; but let no man be 
guilty of so great a foUv' hereafter. He had a toler- 
ably decent bed made of xhe feathers of ducks and 
other wild birds. The sheets were none of the 
whitest, but they were not positively dirty; and I 
thought it would be a luxury to sleep in a bed once 
more. After bathing in the clear cold waters of the 
lake, I undressed while the woman was out, and 
turned in. T felt exceedingly comfortable, and soon 
fell asleep. Towards morning I awoke, with hun- 
dreds of fleas, and bed-bugs fast hold of me, and as 

8 



170 Hills akd Lakes. 

many more, travelling in different directions over my 
bar 3 flesh. I did not stay long in bed after that. Un- 
der pretence of some temporary ailment, I threw on 
my clothes, and went down to the lake, thanking 
Providence that enough of me was left to bathe in its 
pure waters. I hate a bed-bug and a flea, with un- 
mitigated malignity. I do not love a musquito or 
black fly ; but they have some decency about them ; 
they will eat their fill, and fly away and leave you. 
If a bed-bug or flea, would eat and lay down, I could 
bear them ; but after feasting upon my blood, to make 
a highway of my body to travel round on, is a thing 
I can't stand. 

" Squire," said my guide, as he came down to the 
margin of the lake where I was sitting, and the rascal 
grinned when he said it, " What started you out so 
early?" 

"Perdition seize the bud-begs and fleas," said I, in 
my wrath, at the unclean vermin. 

" I've tried that bed," said he, "once, and I wasn't 
disposed to quarrel with you, as to who should 
sleep in it last night. I'm blamed if I hadn't as 
soon sleep on a hetchel, as between them sheets. 
Them cussed bed-bugs and flea'3, ain't a common 



HlGHf TlSITOiRS. 171 

breed. They've longer teeth, and a heavier tread than 
is common ; and they love to travel about, more'n 
any things of the kind, I ever happened to meet with." 

"Then," said I, "you are no true man, Tucker, 
and have not taken the care of me, that you promised 
you would, when we started. Why, in the name of 
mercy, didn't you tell me of this last night, and save 
me from such an infernal crucifixion, as I have under- 
gone ?" 

" I did think," he replied, '' at one time, of tellin* 
you to take a club to bed with you, or to put your 
huntin' knife under your pillow ; but you seemed to 
take to the idea of sleepin' in a bed so, that I thought 
may be you'd like it." 

" Look here," said I, " Tucker, when you told me 
about kicking that half-^breed, over at Indian Lake, I 
doubted the justice of the thing; but I am satisfied 
you did right. A man who can stand such an array 
of vermin, it won't hurt to be kicked. It would be a 
pleasant change, from the agony of being devoured 
by them, to the luxury of a booting. Confound the 
half-breeds and their cabins. They cultivate a bad 
breed of bed-bugs and fleas." 



XVIII. 



BloSY Brook. — Ampersand Creek. — Trout. — Rackbt Bivma.— A 

FLYING SHOT AT A BuCE.. 



Our sea-biscuit was exhausted. The half-breed's 
wife baked for us a lot of heavy biscuit, and having 
purchased his canoe, for all which, we paid him a five 
dollar gold piece, which I verily believe was more 
money than he ever owned at any one time before, 
we started onward again across these lakes, towards 
the Kaquet river. They are three in number, con- 
taining, each, some three or four square miles, con- 
nected by deep narrow channels, of from a few rods 
to half a mile in length, Near the foot of the remotest 
of these ponds, just above the outlet, enters a small 
cold stream, called " Ampersand brook," at the mouth 
of which, in the cold water, the trout congregate* 
Here we stopped for a short time, to secure a mess for 
dinner. We caught what we wanted in a few min- 



Stony Brook. 173 

utes, and beautiful fisli tliey were, weigliing from a 
quarter to three quarters of a jDound. We refrained 
from killing more than we needed for food, and our 
sport, though exciting, was therefore soon over. We 
left at the mouth of that little brook, an unknown 
number '' of the same sort" as those we took, all of 
which seemed as eager to be taken, as we were to take 
them. 

Having thus procured a supply of trout, we started 
on down Stony Brook, as the outlet of the lakes is 
called, towards the Eaquet river. Though, in a direct 
line, the distance does not exceed three miles, we had 
to traverse, in the meandering and crooked course of 
this sluggish stream, more than twice that distance. 
In rounding a point, we saw a fine deer, feeding in a 
natural meadow, or little prairie, bare of timber, and 
which, in the spring freshets, is overflowed. My rifle 
was in the bottom of the boat, and before I could 
bring it to bear upon him, he had discovered us, and 
as he went bounding away towards the woods, I took 
a flying shot at him, and was glad to know that the 
extra speed with which he fled from us, was only the 
effect of the report of my rifle, and the whistling of 
the ball by him. At two o'clock we entered the 



174 Hills and Lakes. 

Kaquet, — one of tlie most beautiful little rivers in the 
world. In this mountain region, one would look for 
a rapid, roaring stream, — one that went cascading 
down steep declivities, swirling away between beetling 
precipices, and plunging down perpendicular ledges, 
in its mad course towards the great deep ; but nothing 
would be wider of the truth. For fifteen miles above, 
and some fifty below where we entered it, this river, 
save in a single locality, flows along with a deep and 
steady current, — winding around wooded points, and 
stretching in long reaches through an unbroken wil- 
derness, the shores lined with forests of gigantic 
growth, or natural meadows. 

Tlie appearance along the shores is that of a coun- 
try beautifully level, and were it not for the tall peaks 
standing out against the sky, dim and shadowy in the 
distance, and the mountain ranges looming up where 
a break occurs in the forest, one would think that he 
was in a region like the Mississippi valley, rather than 
hemmed in by the Adirondacks, and upon the highest 
land, the dividing ridge that separates the waters that 
flow into the Atlantic through the Hudson, from those 
that find their way to the majestic St. Lawrence. This 
]s a cold, hard region doubtless. Its winters are long, 



The Moose. 175 

and it may well be for years a desolate and solitary 
place, but I selected many a spot where, long years 
hence, would be beautiful and productive farms. 
Where meadows and green fields would stretch away 
from the river towards the hills, and where fine farm- 
houses and barns would be seen, and flocks and herds 
would be grazing in rich pastures. The interval land 
along this beautiful river, will one day be valuable, as 
it cannot fail to be productive. The average width of 
the river for twenty -five miles above Tupper's Lake, 
is some fifteen or twenty rods, and its banks are every- 
where lined with a dense forest of gigantic lowland 
trees. We savv^, every few rods, the paths made by 
the deer, as they entered or left the river, in crossing, 
and in the soft, tenacious clay at one spot, we saw an 
" old track" of the moose. Days had passed since he 
crossed, but there was the print of his great hoofs in 
the clay, and I examined it with no little interest. 
There are but few of these animals left, and they are 
infinitely shy and cautious. They seek the deepest 
recesses of the woods, the darkest shadows of the 
swamp, for their hiding-places, and with an eye that 
never sleeps, and an ear open to the softest whisper of 
danger, they hold their ceaseless vigils. They have 



176 Hills and Lakes. 

the keenest scentj of all the animals of the woods, and 
this, with all their other senses always awake, renders 
it almost an impossibility to take one, save in the deep 
snows and crusts of winter. They are a wandering 
animal, too, in the summer season, — ^having no pecu- 
liar abiding-place, and the one that made the track we 
saw, may have traversed hundreds of miles since he 
set his foot in that soft clay. They are as stupid in 
the presence of a blazing light, in the darkness, as 
the deer are, and like them, they may be easily ap- 
proached with a boat in the night time. 

It is some twenty-five miles from the entrance of 
Stony Brook into the Eaquet, the point where we 
entered the river, to Tupper's Lake. We loitered 
along, enjojdng the scenery, examining every pleasant 
nook, stopping to look at every curious thing that 
presented itself to our view, so that the night shadows 
gathered around us, before we had performed half the 
distance we had calculated upon in the morning. We 
landed for the night, and erected our shantee on the 
banks of the river, near one of the natural meadows I 
have spoken of, and before the sun was in the sky the 
next morning, we were on our way again. Some 
three or four miles below the shantee, a small but 



The "Flood- wood." 177 

very cold stream enters the river. Just by the mouth 

of this, we lay to, to secure a breakfast of trout. We 

caught, as fast as we could throw, an abundant supply, 

and we stopped. Further down the river still, is what 

is known as the "flood- wood," a Eed river raft in 

miniature. In a short bend in the stream, where the 

water is deep and sluggish, an immense quantity of 

trees and old logs, and all manner of driftwood, dams 

up the current, piled above the surface in all manner 

of shapes, and extending to unknown depths below, 

through which the river finds its way as through a 

great sieve. Over this "flood-wood," a distance of 

some forty or fifty rods, our canoe had to be drawn. 

It was six o'clock when we reached Tupper's Lake, of 

a calm, warm evening. Our shantee was soon built, 

and our smudge going, and before the twilight had 

faded into the darkness of night, two weary men 

might have been seen out there, on the margin of 

Tupper's Lake, in a shantee built of brush, and a 

dense smudge near their feet, fast asleep on a bed of 

hemlock boughs, with a by no means handsome dog, 

as a faithful watcher over them. It is wonderful how 

sound and sweet a tired man will sleep on his bed of 

boughs, off there, in the clear pure air of the Shatagee 

8* 



178 Hills and Lakes. 

Woods. It is wonderful, too, liow fresli lie will feel in 
the morning, as his eyes open with the break of dawn. 
He feels that he has slept enough, and that his weari- 
ness is all gone. He feels no lassitude, no desire of 
the sluggard for ''a little more sleep, a little more 
slumber." He starts from his green boughs, gapes, 
stretches himself, and is wide awake, and fresh 
as the balmy air of the morning. He plunges 
into the lake for a refreshing and cleansing bath, 
his muscles are strung for action, his nerves all 
quiet, and 

** Ricliard is himself again." 

We were startled, in the gray twilight of the morn- 
ing, by a distant roaring ; not like a waterfall, or far- 
off thunder, but partaking of both. We heard it 
several times, at short intervals, and were unable to 
account for the sound, until, as the light grew more 
distinct, we saw vast flocks of wild pigeons, winging 
their way in different directions across the lake, but 
all appearing to have a common starting-point in the 
forest, a mile or more down the lake. 

" I understand it all now," said my guide ; " there's 
a pigeon roost down there, and, Squire, if you've 



A PiGEOK EOOST. 179 

never seen one, let me tell you it's worth going miles 
and miles to see." 

I had heard and read, of these brooding places of 
the wild pigeon, and was right glad to have an oppor- 
tunity of judging of the truth of the statements in re- 
gard to them. We paddled down the lake, to a point 
opposite to where it seemed to be, and struck into the 
woods. We had no difficulty in finding it, for the 
thundering sound of those vast flocks, as they started 
from their perches, led us on. About half a mile 
from the lake we came to the outer edge of the roost. 
Hundreds of thousands of pigeons, had flown away 
that morning, and yet there were hundreds of thou- 
sands, and perhaps many millions, old and young, 
there yet. It covered acres and acres — I have no idea 
how many, for I did not go round it. 

The trees were not of large growth, being mostl}' 
of spruce and stinted birch, hemlock, and elm, but 
every one was loaded with nests. In every crotch, on 
every branch, that would support one, was a nestful 
of young of all sizes, from the little downy thing just 
escaped from the shell, to the full-grown one, just 
ready to fly away. The ground was covered with 
their offal, and the carcasses of the young in every 



180 Hills and Lakes. 

stage of decay. The great limbs of tlie trees outside 
of the brooding place, were broken and hanging down, 
being unable to sustain the weight of the thousands 
that perched upon them, Evidently the wild animals 
had fattened upon the unfledged birds, that had fallen 
from the nests, for we saw hundreds of half-devoured 
carcasses laying around. The hawks and carrion 
birds congTegated about. "We heard the cawing of the 
crows, and the hoarse croaking of the raven in every 
direction, and saw them at a distance, devouring the 
dead birds on the ground. We saw dozens of hawks, 
and owls, sitting upon the trees around, gorged with 
food, that flew lazily away as we approached. Every 
few minutes, would be heard the roar of a flock of 
the birds, as they started from among the trees. 

After examining to our satisfaction, this wonderful 
exhibition of the habits, and instincts of this truly 
American bird, we took from among the largest of 
those in the nests, what would serve for our breakfast 
and dinner, and turned to the lake. As we passed 
back, we saw, just outside the roost, two gray foxes 
stealing away into the thickets. These, and such as 
them, were having a good time of it that season, 
among, the countless hosts of young pigeons. 



TuppER's Lake. 181 

We struck across to an island, some half a mile 
from the shore, where we breakfasted upon young 
pigeons, broiled upon the coals. They were very fat 
and tender, and constituted a pleasant change from 
fish and venison, which, if the truth must be told, 
were becoming somewhat stale to us. This island 
contains from one to two hundred acres. "We started 
Shack after a deer, which he coursed round the island, 
but, having seen that it was a doe, that might have 
had a fawn hid away among the bushes, we called ofP 
the dog. She had, however, a sharp heat, for Shack 
pushed her mighty hard from the word " go." 

Tupper's Lake is the next largest one to the Upper 
Saranac, in this region of countrj^ It may covei 
possibly as many acres^ for it seems to be wider, but 
it is not so long, I should judge, by some three miles. 
It is impossible to describe to you this beautiful sheet 
of water. There are so many objects of interest, so 
much that is wild and romantic, so much that the eye 
loves to dwell upon, that it must be seen to be appre- 
ciated. As you enter the lake from the outlet, a 
precipice of solid rock rises on the right to the height 
of some fifty or seventy feet, the top of which is level 
and bare. Pleasant little bays steal around behind 



182 Hills and Lakes. 

those massive walls, in tlie cool shadows of which, the 
trout congregate. 

On the left, a beautiful prairie stretches a^vay, 
skirted by tall trees, and as you look upon it, joii can 
hardly believe that it is not a pleasant meadow, and 
you wonder where the farm-house, and all the cattle 
are. Directly before you, are several islands, all 
covered with evergreens, some high and rocky, others 
low and seemingly fertile, while here and there an im- 
mense brown boulder rises from the deep water, to 
the height of twenty or more feet, on which the eagle 
and the fish-hawk alight to devour their prey. There 
is no marsh, no tangled alders and willows, no swamps 
around this lake. The shores are all high and bold, 
piled up with broken rocks, or with a white sandy 
beach between the "vvater and the woods. When you 
enter the lake, no signs of human habitation, no evi- 
dence of civilization is to be seen, and in our voyage 
round it, we found not a single opening in the old 
primeval forests. Kear the centre of the lake, is a 
most picturesque island, which is called The Devil's 
Pulpit, fi'om the singular appearance which it presents, 
as seen while coming down the lake. This island con- 
tains some fifteen or twenty acres. Approached fi:om 



The Devil'S Pulpit. 183 

tlie east, it rises gradually from the water, covered 
with a luxuriant growth of fir, hemlock, and birch. 
It increases in height as you advance, until, at the 
west end, it stands out a perpendicular wall of seventy 
feet. Not a ledge, arrayed in layers, but a square up 
and down solid wall, as if a gigantic boulder had been 
sawed asunder, and one-half of it removed. The top 
of this great rock is bare and smooth. You can ap- 
proach and look over the precipice without danger, so 
level and flat is the surface. At the base the water is 
said to be some fifty or sixty feet, at least, in depth. 
I sounded thirty feet, and found no bottom. On the 
top of this rock, an Indian tradition says, the bad 
spirit preached to his followers congregated on the ice 
below, while a furious snow storm swept over the 
lake, and the winds roared and howled above the 
frozen waters, and went thundering and crashing 
through the old woods on the island, and along the 
shore. On the north side, and a short distance from 
the pulpit, are great steps, or successive breaks in the 
rock, up which he went to deliver his sermon, while 
on the other side, is a regular smooth descent, like the 
steep roof of a house, worn by the attrition of ages, down 
which, it is said, he slid when the service was over. 



184 Hills and Lakes. 

Further towards tlie west, is a large island, con- 
taining perhaps a hundred acres, and there are some 
four or five others of equal size, as you approach the 
head of the lake. We gave Shack a turn on each of 
them with a deer, and he seemed to enjoy the sport 
quite as much as we did. He appeared to understand, 
from the time we landed on the first island in the 
Saranac, what was expected of him, for, though he 
never for a moment left us without orders, yet we 
would not be five minutes landed, before his uneasi- 
ness told us, as plainly as words could have done, that 
he was ready, and wanted to take a turn or two round 
the island with a deer. Some three miles from the 
head of the lake is one of the most beautiful bays of 
some fifty acres, that can be imagined. The entrance 
to it, is only a few rods in width, and you would sup- 
pose, viewing it at a short distance from the shore, 
that it was merely an indentation in the banks, so 
quietly does it steal around and behind the bluff point 
that stretches out into the lake. But on rounding 
this point, you find an exquisite little lake, walled in 
by low precipices, from which the spruce and birch 
trees shoot upwards towards the sky, and along the 
base of which, are piled fragments of rocks that have 



The Country. 185 

fallen from above. At the liead of this little bay 
stands a tall old hemlock, " dead at the top," on which 
sat a great eagle, surveying calmly the " waste of 
Avaters," and which, when he saw ns, leapt upwards 
from his perch, and circling round and round in his 
upward flight, then soared proudly away over the 
mountains. We paused a few minutes, by the mouth 
of a little stream, that had its origin in an exceeeding- 
ly cold spring a few rods from the shore, to throw for 
trout. "We found them abundant, and very active in 
taking the fly. We threw only for experiment, and 
having become satisfied, we returned the half dozen 
that we caught to the water, and passed out into the 
lake. At the head of the lake, Bog river enters. It 
is a large stream, though a small river, and comes cas- 
cading down from a level plateau, some sixty feet 
above the level of the lake. And herein is one of the 
singularities of the formation of this region of country. 
It seems to consist of a succession of planes or pla- 
teaux, rising one above the other, each having its 
series of lakes and ponds, the upper discharging their 
waters down steep declivities, or short rapids, to the 
level next below, and so on from plain to plain, until 
the drainage of all, flows off in a broad river towards 



186 iliLLS AND Lakes. 

the great lakes, tlie majestic St. Lawrence, and the 
sea. 

Bog river has its origin in a series of ponds, laying 
away back towards the base of the Adirondack moun- 
tains, flowing for miles in a deep and sluggish current, 
then goes roaring down rocky declivities for, say fifty 
rods, then settles down to a still, deep stream, passing 
onward through other ponds and lakes, and finally 
ends its career in Tupper's Lake. For several miles 
back from the lake, it moves along with scarcely a 
perceptible current, until it arrives at the brink of the 
plateau, or plain,' — then it rushes down some twenty 
feet, not in a perpendicular fall, but over the sides of 
a range of solid rock, steep as the roof of our ancient 
Dutch houses, plunging in foam into a great stone 
basin of near half an acre, then it plunges down a de- 
clivity of like character, into a second basin, and then 
again over the steep but solid rock, and shoots in a 
boiling current far out into the lake. On the sides of 
the river, where it enters the lake, are broad flat rocks, 
shelving with a gentle descent to the water's edge. 
We landed on the left hand side of the river, and I 
prepared my fishing tackle, and threw across the cur- 
rent, where the river plunged into the lake. The fly 



Trout-fishing. 187 

had scarcely touched the water, when it was seized by 
a trout weighing over a pound. I had neither landing- 
net nor gaft. My rod was a long, elastic one, by no 
means calculated to lift a fish of that size from the 
water, and I had to play him till drowned or ex- 
hausted, so that I could draw him gently upon the 
shelving rock. 

I took at this place a trout that I have no doubt 
would weigh two and a half pounds, and singularly 
enough, I " hooked" him, not in the mouth, but 
through the back fin, close down to the back. Him I 
could not, of course, drown, and the fight we had was 
exciting enough. He bent my rod like a reed, in his 
mad efforts to escape. He went skimming away 
through the water, making my reel buzz again. 
Holding him always taught, he would for a moment 
seem to surrender, and then as I reeled him in, would 
go skiving away with renewed strength to the bottom, 
— now floundering on the surface, — now glancing 
away across the swift current, diving down towards 
the bottom, and again leaping above the water, dart- 
ing here and there and everywhere, in his hard strug- 
gle for life. Strange as it may seem, the hook held m 
the strong cartilage of his back fin, until clean ex- 



188 Hills and Lakes. 

hausted. I drew Mm to my feet on the shelving rock, 
and secured him after an exciting contest of half an 
hour. I was loath enough to leave such rare sport, 
but I had already killed trout enough to make me 
feel somewhat conscience-stricken ; for I had, to say 
the least of it, as many as we could possibly use, con- 
sidering the hot and sultry weather. 

"We built our shantee for the night, on one of the 
islands near the head of the lake. 



XIX. 



A Woodman's Sermon. — His Religion o? ITaturi. — His AROtt 

MENT AGAINSr INFIDELITY. 



The next day was the Sabbath, and we made it a 
day of rest. Solitary as was the forest, and silent, so 
far as the church-bells were concerned, yet we felt that 
the commandment to respect the day was obligatory 
everywhere, in the midst of the wilderness. We re- 
mained by our shantee until near evening, when we 
floated out upon the silent waters of the lake, to enjoy 
the pleasant breeze that rippled its surface, and look 
upon the quiet scenery around it. 

" Squire," said my guide, " the forest, in the sum- 
mer time, isn't the place to make a man forgetful of 
his Maker, and ain't calculated to strengthen the 
wicked feelings of his nater. There's a great many 
things preachin' to him, as he wanders in the woods, 
among the wild and nateral things, and though may 



190 Hills akd Lakes. 

be lie can't write out tlie sarmons, nor repeat tlie texts, 
yet lie's all the time growin' stronger and stronger in 
Kis faith, and better in his heart. The tall forest tree 
preaches to him. It puts forth its little buds when 
the spring time comes, and spreads out its great leavea 
in the summer months, that make a cool shade in the 
heat of noon. When the frost comes, those great 
leaves wither and di e, and the fall winds scatter them 
abroad, to malie focd for new things that grow up in 
the wild wood. The great tre^^ itself, when decay 
seizes upon its trunk, and the earth-wo^ms bur/ough 
in its roots, drops its branches, and at '.ast falls to the 
ground. "Well, those little buds, and them great 
leaves, and the frosts and fall winds that scatter them 
abroad, to become aliment for new vegetation, are the 
heads of the discourse ; and the great tree itself, when 
it falls to the earth to decay and rot, is the admonition 
that closes it. It tells him the history of his own Hfe, 
and talks to him about his own schemes, and hopes, . 
and passions, anc. hi[3 final destiny fit 'ast. The little 
buds tell him of the time t hen he was smart and 
young, with his thousand childish schemes and boyish 
plans. The tree, in its maturity,, reminds him of the 
vigor, and strength, and pride of manhood, and the 



A WooDMAK's Sermon. 191 

falling of tlie great leaves tell him how plan after 
plan and scheme after scheme passes away, and how 
one after another of worldly hopes and objects of 
affection will fall from around him, and how, when 
the winter of age comes, he must fall as the great tree 
falls. 

" The brook that comes down from the hills^ 
preaches to him. He looks upon its waters in their 
ceaseless flow, onward and onward forever. How it 
comes up from the secret spring in the mountain, and 
moves forever away to the large stream, and away 
still to the great river, und away again until it is lost 
in the vast ocean. 

" The little fountain that sends forth the tiny 
brook, tells him of his infancy. The stream that goes 
cascading and leaping down the steep places, laughin* 
and chatterin' in its haste, tells him of his boyhood. 
The river still pressin' onward, speaks about his 
strengi;h and vigor in the strong time of his life, and 
the final ending in the great ocean, reminds him of 
the grave at last. The waters as they move onward 
tell him, that in his course of life there is no stopping- 
place. That onward, and onward, is the word. 
Hours, days, months, and years, steal away ; time 



192 Hills and Lakes. 

flows, and flows on witli him, like tlie runnin' waters, 
and like them he must be lost at last in the great 
ocean of eternity. The squirrel preaches to him ; he 
sees the little animal gatherin' his store of nuts, work- 
in' with cheerfulness in the summer, to provide against 
the barrenness of the winter months. That little sense* 
less thing that follows only a blind instinct, tells him 
that there is a great winter in the far-off future, and 
the summer is the time to provide for its coming. 
That the idle shall starve in its dreariness, and the 
profligate perish under its pressure. The birds in 
their joyous songs among the branches of the tall 
trees, preach to him. They tell him to go cheerfully 
on his way of life, in thankfulness to Him, who scat- 
ters so many blessings on the trail that he follows. 
They say to him, that He is a kind and beneficent 
God, who made them so joyful and happy, and gave 
them food, and cool shades, and the branches, among 
which they could sport, and build their nests, and 
gave them glad voices to carol in praise of Him who 
provided them with all these. Even the tall moun- 
tain, rearmg its bare head to the clouds, defyin' the 
storm and the tempest, has its sermon. It tells him 
of the might and majesty, and the fixedness of the 



His Eeligion of Nature. 193 

purposes of the great God. It is a sign of his strength 
and power. Who would not stand in awe of Him, 
who piled up those massive ledges of impenetrable 
rocks, and bid them stand thei'e immovable forever ? 

" I ain't a wise man, Squire, and may be not what 
the world would call orthodox in my faith ; but if I'd 
never seen a church, nor a bible, nor a preacher, my 
belief in the existence of a great and a good God, 
would have been as fixed and fast as it now is that I 
exist. When I see the seed that is planted in the 
ground, bring forth grain, — the nut that falls to the 
earth, sprout up into a tall tree,— when I see that the 
animals that live in the water, and on the dry land, 
and the birds that fly in the air, all are fitted for the 
elements in which they move,— when I see the tree 
blossom, and bring forth its fruit, — the sun, and the 
moon, movin' in their regular course in the heavens, 
and the stars shinin' like candles in the sky at night, I 
say to myself, all these things never happened by 
chance. There's a God that made them alL That He 
is wise I know, because there is no confusion, or jost- 
lin' among the millions of created things, that he has 
peopled the world with. That he is benevolent I 
know, for he has made provision for the happiness, 



194 Hills and Lakes. 

and enjoyment of every creature that came from his 
hand. 

" That there's a hfe beyond this life I believe, be* 
cause the Bible says so, and because, to my understand- 
in', nater everywhere says so. I see the brook always 
runnin' on, yet never wasted. I see the seasons come 
and go, the trees blossomin' and renewin' their green 
coats every year, and know that they always have, 
from the beginnin' of time. I see and know, that 
nothing in all the world perishes utterly. I see all 
this, and I say to myself, the spirit of a man never 
perishes — ^it must be indestructible as the things thai 
go to make up his body. I see, too, man standin' at 
the head of all created things. The earth, the air, and 
the water, and the things that belong to them, all 
made subject to his will, and provided for bis use. I 
look upon the sun, and the moon, and the stars, all 
Yigntin' his path, and all the mighty universe spread 
out above and around him, and I say to myself, it 
can't be that all this was made, that man might just 
look upon and admire them — feel for a little time 
their benefits, and then lay down and perish utterly. 
It can't be so ; there must be something above and be- 
yond this life, and the spirit of a man must survive for 



Opposed to Infidelity. 195 

good or for evil, the body that goes back to the earth. 
I don't care how larned a man may be ; he may talk 
wisel}^, and knowingly, about the sciences, he may 
confound me by a thousand things I don't and can't un» 
derstand, but when he denies the existence of a great 
Power that created the sun, moon and stars, the earth 
and the countless hosts of things that swarm upon its 
surface, and swim in its waters, who denies the exist- 
ence of a soul, and of an hereafter, who says there is no 
Heaven, and that the grave is the final end, I set him 
down as one who has something wrong in his upper 
works. He ain't a wise man. He don't reason like a 
sensible man, and I'm agin him. 

'' I mind once, I was out for a good many days, in 
the woods, with such an infidel man from Boston. He 
had all the signs of a gentleman about him, and didn't 
seem to have any ill will agin any living thing, yet as 
sure as I'm in this boat, I was afraid of him. To hear 
him talk, made me kind 'er creep all over. He seemed 
to take pleasure in denyin', and lafS.n at the idea of 
there being any great Creator, or any soul, or and 
eternity. I felt scary in his company, and many's the 
time I've got him, under one pretence or another, to 
go before me, for fear he'd take a notion to shoot 



196 Hills and Lakes* 

me ; and the last three or four nights we stayed in the 
woods, I didn't close an eye till I saw he was fast 
asleep. He could out-talk me, and outreason me ; 
but he didn't shake my faith. I mind one day he was 
sittin' on the bank of a little stream that came lafiin 
along down from the hills, and he was tellin' how 
everything came by chance, and I asked him what 
made that little stream run down into the valley, and 
he said, it's gravity. Well, we passed along, and 
came to another small stream, and I put him the same 
question as to that, and he made the same answer. 
' Well, Squire,' said I, ' ain't there some place in the 
world where the streams run up hill ?' ' No,' said he, 
' it's a law of nater, all over the world, that water shall 
always run down hill.' We came, after a little, to a great 
oak tree ; I looked around, and after a good while I 
found an acorn that had sprouted up in the spring, and 
had sent out a little tree twice as long as my finger. 
^ISToW)' said I, ' Squire, did that great oak always 
stand there?' 'No,' said he, 'it grew up from an 
acorn.' ' What,' said I, ' was that oak ever a little 
thing, like this I hold in my hand?' and I showed 
him the acorn, and the sprout I had found. ' Exactly,' 
he replied. 'Well,' said I, *do all great oaks sprinsf 



Aegument against Infidelity. 197 

from acorns ? Don't they grow from beecli nuts, or 
hickory nuts, and don't they start up sometimes tall 
trees, at once ?' ' Ko,' said he, ' its a law of nater that 
every fruit can bring forth only the same kind of tree 
that bore it,' and he talked larnedly about the nater 
of trees, and their growth. 

" As we passed along, I saw a bird fly out from a 
bush, and I saw she had built her nest there, and it 
had five little eggs in it. 'Look here/ said I, ' Squire, 
how came all these twigs and this moss, and thistle- 
down, woven into this bowl-shaped moss, in the 
branches of this bush ?' ' Why,' said he, ' you know 
well enough, that's a bird's nest, and that the bird 
brought them, and mixed them into that shape for its 
nest.' ' Well,' said I, ' them round things there,' 
pointing to the eggs, ' did they fall from the trees ?' 

* No,' said he, ' you know very well, they're the eggs 
of the birds.' ' But,' said I again, ' if I plant 'em, will 
they grow up into bushes, with birds nests in their 
branches, with eggs in them ?' ' Tucker,' said he, 

* you're making game of me ; you know as much 
about them things as I do, and may be more,' and he 
went on to tell how natur' had made a law of instinct, 
that taught birds how to build their nests, and hatch 



198 Hills AND Lakes. 

their young. I couldn't understand all he said, tliougli 
lie didn't seem to want to confound me by his larnin'. 
When he'd got through I said to him, says I ' Squire, 
who made these laws of natur', as you call them, that 
make water, always, and all over the world, run down 
hill, and great oaks grow up from little acorns, and 
teach the birds to build their nests, and rear their 
young ? Who made these laws, and how does it hap- 
pen that when everything came by chance, as you say, 
everything seems to be governed by regular laws, 
that makes like causes produce like effects, all over 
the world. I won't undertake to argy the pint, but to 
my notion, Avhat you call natur's laws is, after all, but 
carryin' out the plans of the great God of natur, and 
that these things can only be so, because he willed 'em 
to be so. Chance always makes confusion, mixes up 
things, and you don't find any confusion or mixen up 
in the laws of natur', or among the things that exist in 
natur'. They never rub agin each other, but always 
work safe and smooth. 

" I mind he said to me one day, ' Tucker,' says he, 
' if there be a Providence that made and rules all things, 
that is infinitely powerful, wise, and just, how is it that 
all the world ain't honest and happy, and why is it that 



A Contest with Infidelity. 199 

he don't so order it, that all shall have an equal por- 
tion of enjoyment in this world ? Now you know it 
ain't so. Some are sick, and in pain all their lives. 
Some are hungry and cold. Some go sorrowing all 
their days ; all that they love are lost to them, and 
they stand all alone in their desolation, like some tall 
forest tree that has been riven by the lightning. 
Honest men have been convicted of crime, and buried 
in prison, or perished on the gallows.' In this way he 
argued with me, and troubled me ; for, Squire, I kept 
thinkin' and thinkin' on what he said, till, while I 
I didn't exactly doubt, yet my mind became uneas}^ 
But at last it came to me, that man at best is but a weak 
and feeble creatur', and his ways ain't the ways of the 
great Creator. That the mystery of all this belongs 
to that portion of the great plan of the universe, which 
is not revealed to man, and I remembered the words 
of a preacher I heard once, who took the hand of a 
weeping mother from the cold forehead of a child she 
loved, and as he lifted it from the face of the little odg 
that was dead, he pointed upwards, and said, ' He 
ordereth all things well.' So I said to myself, when 
the arguments of that infidel man rose up to trouble 
me, ' He ordereth all things well ;' when I look upon 



200 Hills and Lakes. 

the uneven things that happen in this world, — ^how 
hard the lot of one, and how happ j that of another is, 
I saj to myself, ' He ordereth all things well.' There's 
a great many things I can't understand, and some that 
the wisest men can't understand, and the dealin's of 
Providence with human fate, and human destiny, is 
one of 'em. If he troubles the just man, it is for some 
wise and benevolent purpose, that will be made 
known in time or in eternity. 

" I'm a poor man. Squire, and an ignorant one. I 
don't care about riches, but I should like to be wise ; 
but I would not barter my faith in the good provi- 
dence of my Maker, for all the kingdoms of the world, 
and all the knowledge that human wisdom ever at- 
tained to. I don't belong to any church, for I don't 
clearly understand the difference in their doctrines. 
But I've a simple doctrine of my own that I hold to, 
and it's this : that the man who believes in God, and 
fears him, who does the thing that is right, may go on 
his journey of life rejoicing, like the running stream 
that travels quietly to the ocean, and lay down at last, 
in the hope of a place among the happy hereafter. 
Not that I believe in his being saved by the merit of 
his works, for m«,n is a sinful and erring creature at 



Wisdom befoee Eiches. 201 

best, but there is One who can wipe away the sin that 
is repented of, and lead him safely home at last. This 
is my faith, that I gather from nater and from the 
Bible^. and while I interfere with no man's opinions, I 
shall cling to mine till I die, and take the risk of their 
carrying me safely through. But I never want to see 
the man again, who says there is no God." 

" Well," said I, " Tucker, you'll see no such man 
in me, and you've preached a better sermon than some 

I've heard from Doctors of Divinity." 

9* 



XX 

The Silent Energy of Nature. — Her Workshops. — Her Joub- 

NETMEN. 

It is a pleasant thing to rise mtL. the early dawn, 
on the shores of one of these beautiful lakes, and 
watch the departure of the stars as they disappear, one 
after another, from the sky ; to see the twilight fading 
as it were into day ; to see the spectral and sombre 
shadows of the forest vanish away, the clustering trees, 
that stood like so many ghosts solemn and moveless 
in the darkness, assuming form and shape ; to hear 
voice after voice, of the hundred that belong to the 
morning, waking from the stillness of nature's repose, 
and see the brightness of the perfect day, spreading its 
glories abroad over all the earth. 

On this island, we noticed a variety of beautiful 
wild flowers. The rose, blossoming from its short 
bush, that sent its roots among the moss, and drew its 



A LuxuEY IN Laziness. 203 

sustenance from the crevices in tlie rocks. The wild 
violet, along the banks of the lake ; the balm that 
grew in the moist places; and the ladj^-slipper, that 
sprung from the decayed leaves beside the fallen trunk 
of some great tree. All these, with many others, that 
as yet are nameless, while they could not rival the 
productions of modern gardens, yet possessed a modest 
and simple beauty, well worthy of a place in the 
arcana of the florist. We spent the day in paddling 
from island to island, and floating along under the 
shade of the tall trees that grew along by the water's 
edge. It has been said by somebody, I cannot now 
say who, — the sentiment, while I endorse it, is not my 
own, — that there is a luxury in laziness, superior to 
almost every other luxury. To enjoy it, one must be 
away from the disturbing elements of civilization, be- 
yond the sights and sounds, and the conventional pro- 
prieties of artificial life ; where he can lounge in list- 
less dreaminess, build his castles in the air, and not 
have them knocked to pieces by some stern reality, or 
toppled down by some practical thought, forced upon 
him through his eye or his ear. He must be haunted 
by no care, fretted by no business, disturbed by no 
necessity, nor hurried by the calls of duty. This lux- 



204 Hills and Lakes. 

urj we found that day, in all its beatitude, among tlie 
cool shades of those beautiful islands, beneath a balmy 
sky, fanned by a cooling breeze, breathing the odors 
of the wild flowers, and regaled by the songs of the 
birds. 

" Did you ever think, Squire," said my guide, as 
he plucked a wild rose, that reared its modest head 
beside the boulder on Avhich we were sitting, "how 
quietly nater goes about her work, and how silently 
she makes and finishes the beautiful things we see 
around us ? It ain't so with man. He works with a 
great noise and bustle ; when he builds his steam- 
boat, or his house, or his great ship, he hammers 
away, and the clank of the machinery is always thun- 
derin' upon the ear. The big sledge rings against the 
great anvil, and the hammer echoes as it drives home 
the nail or the spike. His saw grates and hisses, as it 
shapes the plank, and his axe speaks out as it hews 
the timber. His huge water-wheel goes grumblin' on 
its rounds, and his steam-engine puffs and blows, as if 
its lungs were troubled with the asthma. I was down 
to Plattsburgh one day, and went into a machine shop 
where there were a great many men at work, ham- 
merin', and turnin', and shapin' iron into machinery, 



The Silent Enerhy of Nature. 205 

and tho' everything went on regular, yet there was 
noise enough to make a man onused to it crazy. I 
saw them puttin' together a little steam-engine, and 
saw how smoothly it worked, — all its parts fitted like 
a shoe to its last, but I was thinkin' how many noises 
it created to build it. Now it ain't so with nater. 
You can't see her work, nor you can't hear her work. 
She moves on silent, but sui'e, and her work is all 
done without a sound to break the stillness. Look at 
this little flower. Yesterday, may be, it was a bud ; 
to-day it is a rose, and, if a thousand men had been 
watchin' it, not one could have seen or told when it 
changed from the bud to the rose, and yet it did 
change. Look at that great tree, it is taller than the 
mast of a ship. See its great branches and its broad 
leaves. It was once but an acorn. It sprouted and 
grew to what you see, and if all the eyes in the world 
had watched it, not one could have seen it grow. 
Nater started it from the ground, and built it up as it 
stands there, and if all the world had been listenin', 
they couldn't have heard a sound as she put it to- 
gether. Look away out over the woods, and see the 
broad forest wavin' there as far as your eye can reach. 
Think of that vast wilderness of trees, and all the 



206 Hills and Laees. 

smaller things growin' beneatli tliem. What is the 
proudest work of man, to that great creation of nater 
that lies spread out before you ? In the creation of it 
all, nater made no sound. She didn't wake a single 
echo. She moved on silently, steadily, and that great 
forest rose up, finished, and not a noise stirred the air 
in all that mighty work. You see a farmer sowin' his 
seed, and you know that a field of grain will follow. 
But you may watch, and all the world may watch 
and listen, and not one can see the blades come out 
of the ground, and yet they will come out of the 
ground ; not one can see the grain grow, and yet it 
will grow. Not one can see it ripen, and yet it will 
ripen. Nater will finish her work to the ripened crop, 
and the eye that watches ever so closely, or the ear 
that listens, can't see her work, nor hear her work, 
and yet she Avorks on, day and night, week-days and 
Sundays, till her task is done. 

" Take the little child in its mother's arms, how 
weak and feeble it is. It don't know but little, and 
what knowledge it has, is only instinct that belongs to 
the young of all animals. But there may be in it, 
what will one day be great wisdom, and a strong tall 
man. "Watch its growth. It passes from infancy, 



Nature's Workshop. 207 

from feebleness to a stout boy, and again, a little 
longer and it is a powerful man — with mind and body 
perfected. But you may watch it ever so closely, and 
and you can't see it change, though it does change, 
you can't tell when thought passed into its mind, nor 
when strength passed into its limbs. All you can say 
is, that it has changed, from the helplessness of in- 
fancy, into the stature and strength of manhood. 
While you was watchin' nater was workin' in her 
silent but sure way, perfectin' and perfectin' its job, 
and may be laffin at your trying to see her foot-prints, 
or hear the sound of her machinery. 

" And just so it is with the countless labors she 
performs. You don't hear her water-wheels, nor 
her steam engines, you don't hear her saw or her 
hammer, she moves along in her great machine-shop, 
with a foot that leaves no track, a voice that utters no 
whisper, a hand that brings to the senses no sound. 
It's a wonderful energy Squire, that nater brings to 
the creation of her works, so silent, so mysterious, 
that shows us its countless productions, while it defies 
ITS to search out the Avay she placed them before us. 
I've often thought I'd like to look into nater's work- 
shop and see how she makes the thousand things that 



208 Hills and Lakes. 

come from lier "hand. To see the invisible agencies, 
the viewless mechanics at their labors — to see where 
they get the materials that they work np into the 
things that grow. To find out where they bring 
thought and wisdom from, that they put into the 
mind of a man, and the instincts that make up the 
knowledge of dumb animals. To know where the 
strength comes from, and the flesh and the bones, that 
change the little child into a great stout man. That 
would be a sight Squire, worth lookin' at. But we 
shan't see it, and no man will ever see it. It's among 
the hidden things that the eye of livin' man can't look 
upon, nor his cunning find out." 



XXI. 



The Eagle and his prey. — The Loon. — His Habits. — The 
Partridge. — The Sq-dirrel and the Forest Mice. 



As we paddled down the lake we saw a brood of 
lialf-grown ducks, some twenty rods from the shore, 
swimming and gyrating round the old one, diving and 
flapping their unfledged wings along on the water, 
seemingly in a most playful humor. We paused close 
in by the shore, and were watching their sports, when 
we heard the alarm cry of the mother, and they in- 
stantly scattered — pulling with feet and wings for the 
shore, quaking and evincing in every way the Avildest 
terror. Suddenly a bald eagle came like an arrow, 
from his perch among the trees on a high bluff be- 
yond them, and seizing, as he glanced from the water, 
one of the brood in his great claws, bore it away 
round the point, whence he made his stoop. It was a 
beautiful exhibition of skill, and though it made a 



210 Hills and Lakes. 

vacancy in that brood of ducks, yet it was a sight I 
should have been loath to miss. It was all done in 
an instant. There was no pause in his flight ; as the 
eagle seized his prey he glanced upwards and wheeled 
in the air with wings apparently unmoved, and then 
flew off to devour it. 

" There, Squire, I have seen that thing done a 
hundred times," said Tucker. ''That eagle has been 
watchin' that brood of ducks, may be an hour, and 
his mind was made up which one he'd take before he 
started from his perch. He don't shoot at random, 
and don't often miss his mark. I've often thought it 
must take a great deal of trainin' to do it. But I sup- 
pose it's nater or instinct as you call it, and old Pete 
Meigs always said the eagle's first stoop is as sure as 
his hundredth or his thousandth." 

"We waited a long time for the frightened water-fowl 
to come from their hiding places. At length we saw 
the old one steal cautiously out from among the 
reeds, and turn up first one eye and then the other, 
as if to see that her enemy was gone. She seemed to 
become satisfied that the danger was over, and in 
answer to her low call her little ones, one after an- 
other, gathered around her. She went swimming and 



The Eagle and his Prey. 211 

quaking around among them in a restless and nneasj 
way for a little time, as if counting them up. But 
she soon forgot the lost one, if she missed it, for in a 
few minutes she became quiet, raised herself partly 
out of the water, flapped her wings, and then fell to 
straightening out her feathers with her bill, as if 
nothing had happened. 

" The eagle," said Tucker, " knows what water- 
fowl it's safe to make prey of He never takes the 
loon. That bu-d, as you see, floats away out on the 
water, and don't seem to take any notice of the eagle. 
He's got a long, sharp bill, like a dirk, and he uses it 
like one, sometimes, too. I mind once, I was over on 
the Shazee with a man from down south, who had a 
large water-dog that he'd larnt to fetch and carry, and 
when he shot anything on the water, he'd send his 
dog, Nero, as he called him, in after it. Well, one 
morning a loon was plumin' himself near the shore, 
and the gentleman crept carefully down to the bank 
of the lake, and with his gun loaded with duck-shot, 
fired upon and wounded it, so that it could not swim 
fast or fly away. He sent his dog to bring it to the 
shore. Nero plunged in, fierce enough, and swam 
boldly up to it. The wounded bird dodged the grab 



212 Hills and Lakes. 

the dog made at it, and struck its long sharp bill into 
his neck in a way that made him howl. ISTero turned 
to put out for the shore, and the loon gave him an- 
other stab in the ham, that sent him ahead crying ki ! 
hi ! at every pull. The poor dog came out of the 
water with two great wounds, and bleeding like a 
stuck pig, very much to the amazement and wonder 
of his master. After that Kero took two looks at the 
birds his master sent him into the water after, before 
he ventured near them. Now, Shack there, would 
have declined that job. He knows what the long 
sharp bill of a loon means, though how he got his 
larnin' on that subject I can't tell. I know he never 
was wounded by one in his life. But it's of his 
knowin' ways, and may be, he has studied it out by 
seein' the loons I've shot afore now, and may be he's 
got hold of the truth by hearin' me tell about the 
trick that bird played on the gentleman's water-dog. 

" The loon, Squire, is a curious bird. You hardly 
ever see two together sociable like, though there may 
be more than that number, in one of these little lakes 
at once. But they're always a great ways apart, and 
never seem to have anything in particular to say to 
one another. I never saw a young loon in my life. 



The Look. 213 

WKere they breed, I don't know, but one thing I'm 
certain of, they don't breed in these waters. You may 
come out here, airly in the season, and you won't see 
a loon in all the lakes. When the weather gets warm, 
you'd be woke up in the morning by their clear, loud, 
ringing voice, and you'll see may be two or three, off 
in different directions on the water. You may stay 
all summer and you'll see them there, and always 
apart, and you won't see any others. Along in the 
fall you see them as usual on the lake before you go 
to your shanty at night, and when you get up in the 
mornin', they're all gone, and that's all you'll know 
about 'em, if you stay among these lakes studyin' 
their ways a dozen years. And when they go, you 
had better go too, or make up your mind to be out in 
the woods in an ugly storm, for in a day or two it'll 
surely come. This much I've learned, and when they 
start, I always start too. 

" There's another queer water-fowl, that little dip- 
per as we call him, sittin' out there like a cork on the 
water. He, too, is always alone, and don't build his 
nest in these parts, as I could ever discover. We 
used to have a deal of fun with them chaps when we 
had flint locks, before the percussion caps came into 



214 Hills akd Lakes, 

fasHon. When I've been out to these lakes with 
people that thought themselves great shots, and could 
do the thing handsome too, I'd point out to 'em one 
of them little dippers that would be eyeing us, may 
be ten or twelve rods off, as he sat lightly upon the 
water, and ask the marksman to shoot it with his rifle. 
Well, he'd draw up, thinkin' to fetch the bird sure, 
when at the flash, quick as lightning down would go 
the little fellow under the water. The ball would 
strike may be exactly where it sat, and the marksman 
would think he'd shot it into a hundred pieces, but in 
a moment the bird would pop up, and raising itself on 
end flap its wings, throwing the water from them, and 
would seem to say to his enemy ' do that again.' I've 
seen a man waste twenty charges, one after another, 
in tryin' to shoot one of them divers. Every time it 
would dodge at the flash, and be under water before 
the ball got to it. And it sometimes seemed to me as 
if the little fellow enjoyed the sport, as it never 
thought of getting beyond the range of the rifle. But 
I never tried the j)ercussion caps on 'em, for I don't 
like to take the hazard of killin' one of the happy 
little things by way of tryin' the experiment." 

Along in the afternoon we landed in a little cove. 



Thd Partridge. 215 

I heard the drumming of a partridge, which is one of 
the queer sounds of the forest that one hears towards 
evening on a summer day. It commences slow at 
first, like measured beating on a muffled drum. The 
blows increase in rapidity, until in a quarter of a 
minute they become so rapid that they are undis 
tinguishable to the ear, and for another quarter of a 
minute they roll like that same muffled drum beaten 
by a nimble-handed drummer. There is a singularity 
about the sound. You cannot tell whether it is near 
or far off. For aught you can say, it may be twenty 
rods or a quarter of a mile distant. And then, too, it 
is somewhat difficult to tell from what direction it 
comes. At first you think it is on this side of you 
and then on that, and you will hear it more than once 
or twice before you make up your mind positively as 
to the direction of the sound. 

I listened until I was satisfied of the point from 
which, in this instance, the sound came, and crept 
carefully in that direction, intending to satisfy myself of 
the manner in which a partridge makes this drumming 
noise. After moving cautiously some thirty or forty 
rods, I saw my bird standing upon a log, picking and 
straightening out the feathers on his tail, and along on 



216 Hills and Lakes. 

his sides, as if dressing himself for a tea-party or a 
balL Presently he straightened himself up, on tip- 
toes, beat his wings not against the log on which he 
stood, but against his sides, slow at first, and then 
faster and faster nntil the " drumming" was for a few 
seconds a continuous sound. I saw him thus drum 
some eight or ten times during the half hour that I 
was watching him. He did not discover me and I 
did not disturb him. I was anxious to learn, if I could, 
his object in thus beating a tattoo on his own ribs, and 
thought I discovered it when I saw a hen partridge 
hop on the other end of the log, and walking leisure- 
ly up to the drummer, seat herself quietly by his side. 
They sat together a few minutes, and then left the log 
and sauntered away among the bushes. 

While I sat watching them, I was greatly amused 
with the conduct of a squirrel in my neighborhood. 
I first saw him as he came down from the branches 
of a tree, a short distance from where I sat, and went 
hopping about, turning over the leaves, and, every 
now and then, cocking himself up on his haunches, to 
eat the beech-nut he had picked up. He jumped, after 
a little, upon the log where I sat perfectly still, and 
came within some ten feet of me, before he discovered 



The Squirrel. 217 

me at all. He made a few desperate leaps to the foot 
of a great bircli tree, and running up tlie trunk some 
eight or ten feet, stopped and turned head downwards, 
and commenced chattering, as if inclined to hold a 
conversation with the strange animal he saw sitting- 
there on the log. I did not move, and he seemed at 
last to entertain some doubt whether it was an animal 
after all that he had been so terribly frightened at. 
He came slowly and cautiously down ; stopped, as he 
reached the ground ; sat himself up on end ; and 
looked at me cunningly and suspiciously. He hopped 
a few paces nearer, and took another look, then leaped 
upon the log where I sat, within ten feet of me, look- 
ing intently and cautiously at me with his active, 
bright, little eyes, — turning first one side, then the 
other of his face towards me, and exhibiting almost a 
human curiosity to study out who or what I was. At 
length, as I was entirely moveless, he seemed to have 
made up his mind that I was nothing after all but a 
stump, or a thing that had grown there, and passed on 
! in his hunt after beech-nuts, out of my sight, 

I was amused, too, with the little forest mice, not 
much larger than the end of my thumb, that seemed 

to live in and under the log on which I sat. They 

10 



218 Hills and Lakes. 

would come out, and dodge about among and under 
tlie leaves, and over my feet ; and one little fellow 
commenced gnawing with his sharp little teeth, at 
my greasy boots, while another seemed inclined to 
travel up the inside of the leg of my pantaloons. This 
was carrying the joke a little too far, and as I stirred 
to prevent it, they vanished in an instant to their 
hiding-place under the log. 



XXII. 

^HE Gray Owl. — The Wild Birds. — The Dumb Animal WiSEii t'lS 

HIS INSTINCTS) THAN MAN IN HIS BEASON. ThE FoLLT OF CbIME. 

Towards sundownj as we were floating along the 
bluff bank of a cove, or little bay indented in the 
rocky shore of the upper island, I saw sitting among 
the clustering branches of a scrubby oak, that grew 
from the crevices in the rocks, a great gray owl) 
staring with his huge round eyes, with an aspect of 
profound wisdom at us. The feathers upon each side 
of his tiger-shaped head, stood up like cat's ears, and 
his legs were covered with pantalets of down, to the 
claws* A strangely solemn look, a deeply meditative 
gravity has the owl, as he stares out from his bush, 
and one not used to him, would mistake him for the 
great philosopher of the feathered tribe. That would 
indeed be a great mistake. He is a sluggish, stupid 
ajiimal, a living illustration of the adage, that appear- 



220 Hills ahid Lakes. 

ances are sometimes deceitful. He is not, however, 
without his parallels in the human species. There are 
OYv^l men, as well as owl birds. With great develop- 
ments, and small wit, profound gravity with little 
sense, solemn visages^ and empty heads,— and who, 
though full of pretension, when sounded have no ring 
of the true metal, but dull and heavy like brass* 
There was no object in making spoil of him, and we 
passed on, leaving him to his stupid meditations 
among the branches of his bush. We heard him, as 
we rounded the point, sending forth his hoarse, sol- 
emn, " To whit, to whoo, whoo" after us. The owl 
has but two changes to his voice, — the one low, sol" 
emn, and hoarse, and yet heard at a long distance,— 
the other a piercing, shrill, and intense scream, like 
the cry of the panther. The latter seems to be an 
alarm cry. It will break suddenly from the branches 
above you, sending the blood to your fingers ends, 
and startling you like a galvanic shock. Your hair 
starts up like " quills upon the fretful porcupine," and 
when your nerves subside, while you laugh at the 
absurdity of your alarm, you are nevertheless thank- 
ful that it was occasioned only by an owl. 

The most common birds found on these islands, 



The Wild Birds. 221 

were tlie blue jay, the chewink, that takes its name 
from the resemblance its oft-re^Deated note bears to the 
word, the brown thrush, the cat-bird, and a bird of 
whitish color, like those which used, when I Avas a 
boy, to be called the snow-bird. There is also a 
variety of the wood-pecker tribe, from the large black, 
red-headed cock of the woods, that goes rising and 
falling in his flight, with a loud, clear, clanking voice, 
to the little chickadee that dances around the trunk 
of the fir tree, looking for his insect or his worm, 
holding on with his tiny claws, now with his head, 
and now with his tail uppermost, crossways, and every 
way, — xip, down, and around the tree in ceaseless 
activity. We saw a number of black and red squir- 
rels, clambering among the limbs of the trees, or run- 
ning about on the ground, in pursuit of the nuts that 
had fallen the previous season. There was no lack of 
life off" here in the woods and on these beautiful islands, 
and all seemed to be busy and happy. We landed on 
the south point of the island for the night. The side 
of a large boulder offered a convenient location for a 
temporary shantee, which we soon built, and gathered 
spruce branches for a bed, and wood for our smudge. 
" I've often thought," said my guide, as we lighted 



222 Hills and Lakes. 

our pipes after supper, " that tlie dumb animal is wiser 
ill liis instincts, than man is, in his reason and knowl- 
edge. Did you ever notice how happy every wild 
thing seems to be, and how all livin' things, but man 
alone, seem to enjoy themselves after the fashion of 
their naters? The bird hops, and flies about, and 
sings in his gTcat glee, full of happiness, even while he 
is seeking the food that is to keep him from starvation. 
The squirrels go chatterin' and friskin' about, chasin' 
each other up and down the trees, leapin' from branch 
to branch, or skippin' playfully along the ground. 
The wood-rabbit leaps awkwardly about, cockin' his 
long ears at every sound, and nibblin' at the forest 
grass and tender leaves as he passes along. What of 
all the wild things that we see around us, seem to have 
a care or a sorrow ? They don't distress themselves 
about to-morrow, for they know that it'll take care of 
itself. They ain't studyin' and contrivin' about the 
future, nor distressin' themselves about the past. 
They go straight along, enjoyin' the good the day or 
the season brings, contented whether it be more or 
less. A dumb animal never does violence to his 
nater. He don't eat anything that he don't like, and 
\is instinct makes him avoid what ain't for his good. 



Instinct vs. Reason. 223 

He don't go where lie won't be comfortable, if he can 
help it, and he's always to be found in the place he's 
fitted by nater for. 

" Now, Squire, it ain't so with man. He's an on- 
easy, discontented, restless creater, always pushin' 
ahead, reachin' after something beyond him. If he's 
got one loaf, he wants two, even though the first can't 
be but half eaten, and the second gets mouldy while 
he's bakin the third. If he's got one farm, he's strug- 
glin' to get another, while the fruits of the first is 
being eaten up by the rats in his granary. The richer 
he gets, the richer he wants to be ; and he goes on 
hoardin' and workin', till he wears himself out in 
gatherin wealth, that won't take one ache from his 
bones, nor stop the coming of old age, nor keep him 
an hour from the grave. He can't eat it, nor wear it, nor 
take it with him when he dies. I'm a poor man, SquirCc 
but when I start on the trail that begins on the other 
side of the grave, I shall take as much of the treasures 
that people toil so hard for with me, as the richest 
man in the world. One man is always tryin' to search 
out wisdom, and to get a greater amount of larnin' 
than all the world besides. This, may be, ain't so 
foolish, if he don't neglect his body, or by over- 



224 Hills and Lakes. 

workin' his mind, bring pain, and disease, and weak- 
ness iipon himself, and make himself old before his 
time. What if he gathers all the wisdom of the world, 
all the knowledge that human nater can attain to ? It 
ain't much, at best, and the mountain he's tryin' to 
climb grows steeper and higher, as he goes up. He 
may climb and climb, till his eyes grow dim, and his 
head gets dizzy, but the top is further off than it was 
when he started. He may look back on the path by 
which he has ascended, and there's a thousand things 
to be studied out, that he overlooked as he came 
along. He goes deeper and deeper into the mist, and 
he learns at last, that the eye of man can't look into 
the thick darkness that nater has rapt round her. He 
finds out, in the end, that man's wisdom is at best 
foohshness, and what he thinks he has studied out, he 
ain't always sure that he knows. And then, Squire, 
what good does it do him, as a general thing, to roll 
up such a great heap of knowledge? It don't make 
him any more contented or happy. I am talkin' now 
about the man that sits up nights, study in' and 
cypherin' out things, and wearin' out his body in 
tryin' to look into and understand all the hidden 
things of nater. He don't eat well, nor he don't relish 



The Folly of Crime. 225 

his sleep. He wastes away, and may be dies, while 
the thing he's lookin' after, is yet a great ways be- 
yond him. 

" But it ain't the m.an that searches after knowl- 
edge, that quarrels most with nater, and sets her up 
against him. I've seen young men, drinkin' and 
carousin', playin' cards, apd swearin' and helping each 
other along in the ways of wickedness, in their young 
days, and I always said to myself, that if they'd just 
use the reason that God had given them, and look 
along down the trail of life, they'd see the great 
harvest of sorrow, that would surely spring up from 
the seed they were sowin', in the spring-time of their 
lives. Such courses lead to great sins, and are pretty 
sure to end in an old age of repentance. When stiff- 
ness comes to the joints, and gray hairs gather upon 
the head, like the snows of winter on the mountains, 
it will be a sad thing to look back, and see only deso- 
lation behind them, while around tliem there is no 
comfort, and before them no hope. I've seen a great 
many men destroyin' themselves with strong drink, 
killin' their bodies, and their minds, and destroyin' all 
their human feelins', by indulgin' in the use of drinks 

that are onnateral, that take a great deal of work to 

10* 



226 Hills and Lakes. 

make 'em taste pleasant. It's a strange thing, Squire^ 
to see a man, that maj be, has a ivife and little chil- 
dren that he loves, that cling around him in their 
young affections, like the wild vine that creeps up, 
and hugs the trunk of the strong old oak. To see 
sich a man givin' way to destroyin' drinks, pluckin' 
up from his heart the love of the husband and the 
father, and castin' from him the fond arms of his little 
ones, and goin' straight along down to a drunkard's 
grave, in spite of his wife's anguish, and his children's 
tears. It's a sad sight Squire, but you and I have 
seen it more than once. It's a thing I can't under- 
stand — a foolishness that no dumb animals was ever 
guilty of. 

" And tlien to see people breakin' the laws, plun- 
derin' their neighbors, and may be takin' away^by 
violence, human life. Crime, Squire, is a wonderful 
folly, outside of the moral wrong, and the sin against 
God. I was once down to Plattsburgh, when a court 
was sittin' there, and I went into the court-house, 
where they were tryin' a man for robbing a store in 
the night time. The jury were listenin' to what the 
witnesses were telling agciinst him. It was all clear 
and straight, that he was the man who did the rob- 



The Fruits of Crime. 227 

hevjj and tlie jury without going out, said he was 
guilty. I saw his wife, sittin' beside him, with a little 
child in her arms, and I heard her sob and cry, as she 
covered her face Avith her shawl, when she saw there 
was no hope. By and by, the judge told him to stand 
up, and gave him the sentence that sent him to State's 
Prison for years. I never shall forget the sorrowful 
voice, nor the great tears that rolled down the cheeks 
of his wife, as she parted in her desolation from him. 
Then I thought to myself, Squire, what a wonderfal 
foolishness is crime. Here was a man, and there are 
and always have been hundreds and thousands like 
him, who broke the heart of his wife, and destroyed 
the promise of his little one, brought shame upon his 
(dndred, and a great blight upon his own name, be- 
sides being shut up in a prison, and havin' long years 
carved out of a life, short at best, for a chance of 
gettin' by crime what he would have squandered in a 
month, and what he might have earned by honest 
labor in a year. No dumb animal, would have been 
guilty of such folly. 

'' Eeason, Squire, is a great thing, but it don't save 
human nater from great and wonderful foolishness." 



XXIII. 



The i esuit's Journal. — Wild Bulls and Cows, -with antleh3 
LIKE THE Stag. — The " Taminq'' op the Indians. 



The wind died away as the sun went down, to 
a perfect calm. The lake lay there in perfect stillness, 
its surface unrufEed by a wave. It is impossible to 
describe the beauty of a calm, clear evening, on one 
of these lakes. The shadows of the mountains, and 
of the tall forest trees, reach out farther, and are re- 
flected with a deeper and deeper shade, as the night 
approaches, from the depths of the quiet Avaters. The 
little bays, and wooded indentations along the shore, 
grow darker, and more solemn, while the mountain 
peaks stand out with a bolder, and sharper outline, 
against the sky. Each forest sound becomes more and 
more distinct, as the general hum of life sinks away 
into silence. Star after star steals out in its bright- 
ness, until all the " candles of the sky" are lighted, 



The Jesuit's Journal. 229 

and in their proper places. I noticed tliis evening, 
that the trout of the lake, seemed to be holding a 
jubilee ; from the time the sun hid himself behind 
the mountains, they commenced their sports. In 
every direction they were in playful activity. Here, 
one would be seen skimming along the top of the 
water, leaving a long wake to mark the course he fol- 
lowed. There, another would come to the surface, 
and thrusting his nose upward, would pitch suddenly 
down, giving his tail a flourish in the air, as he disap- 
peared again towards the bottom. Then another huge 
fellow would leap clear of the water, in his great glee, 
shake himself in the air, and then tumble back awk- 
wardly into the lake. We took a turn at trolling 
among them, but they were too happy to bite, and we 
left them to the enjoyment of their sports. 

" Squire," said Tucker, as we were paddling 
leisurely along towards the outlet of the lake, " I've 
read in one of the books printed by the State, that 
tells about the airly settlements of this country, that a 
great many years ago, when all the State of New 
York, and every foot of land south of the great lakes, 
and west of the settlements just along the sea coasts, 
clear to the Mississippi, and beyond that, too, to the 



230 Hills and Lakes. 

ocean, was one great wilderness, a Jesuit missionary, 
thinkin' to convert the wild Ingens, and make Chris- 
tians jf 'em, passed up the St. Lawrence in a canoe, 
and so on up oH Ontario, and away to Lake Erie. It 
seems he wrote down the curious things he saw, and 
sent that writin' home to France, where it lay until a 
few years ago, when it was discovered, and put in 
print. I've been told that he was the first white man 
that ever passed up the St. Lawrence, or coasted the 
Ontario — that he alone, of all the civilized world, had 
heard the roar of Niagara, or looked upon the falls of 
the Genesee. That was a great thing. Squire ; but for 
all his writin' the world ain't much the wiser. He 
was a simple-minded man, who had no eye for nater, 
and took no notice of the wild things of the woods. 
In all the country he travelled over, he saw only 
heathens to be converted, and sinners to be saved. In 
all his wanderings he carried only a Bible, and talked 
with the savage Ingens only about their souls. It's a 
great pity. Squire, you and I hadn't been along that 
trip ; the world would be wiser about the country as | 
it then was, about the wild beasts, and birds, and 
game, than it now is." 

" A man down to Plattsburgh, that I'd been out j 



"Wild Cows and Bulls. 231 

to tlie Sliazee, and the Shatagee lakes with, showed 
me in a book the old Missionary's Journal, and I shall 
never forget the only things written in it about the 
game. I read it carefully, and know it all by heart. 

" ' Travelling through great prairies,' he writes, 
* we saw in divers quarters immense herds of wild 
bulls and cows ; and their horns resembled, in some 
respects, the antlers of the stag.' 

" In another place he says, ' Droves of twenty cows 
plunge into the waters to meet us — some are killed by 
way of amusement with, an axe.'* As near as I can 
calculate, this was on the St. Lawrence, down below 
the Thousand Islands, in the region of the outlet of 
the Champlain. 

" Now, these wild bulls and cows couldn't have 
been moose, unless the nater of the beast has changed ; 
for in all the woods there's not an animal so shy and 
and wild, and that shuns a man with sucli care. He's 
a cunning animal, and bas ways that are not such as 
the missionary describes. He's a solitary animal, and 
lives away off in the deepest recesses of the woods, 
and don't congregate in droves. It don't seem to me 
that the buffalo ever left the rich pastures of the West, 

* Documentary History of New York, vol. i. 



232 Hills and Lakes. 

to wander away off north, to the St. Lawrence, to 
starve in the woods in the winter, and be eat up by 
the black fly in the suiD.mei, when they'd fare so much 
better at home. It's agin nater that they should do 
so. It's true I've 'hearn tell of their paths over the 
Alleghany Mountains, and that in airly times they 
were found in Ohio, and may be in western ISTew 
York ; but I never believed myself they came so far 
east and north as this State ; and there's no tradition 
of their havin' done so amons: the Ingfens. Besides, 
their horns don't resemble the horns of the stag at 
all. Them wild cows and bulls, Squire, warn't buffalo, 
and accordin' to my notion, they couldn't have been 
moose, either. What they were is more than I know ; 
I've studied and thought about it a great deal, but it 
don't do no good. 

" It must be true, for the missionary writes like an 
honest man, who feared God, and wouldn't lie about 
what he saw. Besides, he don't tell any long yarn 
about it, nor any cock-and-bull story, but simply 
states the fact, and leaves it. It's a wonderful -pitj he 
warn't thinkin' less of the sinners, and more of the 
things he saw on that first journej^, among the wilds 
of tlie New World, for it might well be called new 



The Missionary's Mistake. 233 

then. He didn't make Christian men and women of 
tlie Ingens^ nor win them from their wild and savage 
way either. To them, he didn't do much good, and 
the world knew all it wanted to know about 'em. 
They were a cussed, scalpin', murderin', savage set, 
and warn't worth savin' any how. If that missionary 
had just told us all about the woods, and the game, the 
beasts, and the birds, and the appearance and nater of 
things, and especially all about them wild cows and 
bulls with horns like the stag, he'd a done something 
to be remembered by, and the world would have 
thanked him for it. But he told just enough to make 
the world want to know more, and to cuss and swear 
at him for not tellin' more, instead of goin' cruisin' 
after them blasted red skins. It's provokin', Squire, 
for men like you and me, to have such a little corner 
of the cover lifted up, that conceals so much knowl- 
edge, and lettin' us see that there's a great many things 
beneath it that we'd like wonderfully to know about, 
and then shutting it against us forever, especially when 
thinkin' and studyin' won't help us to find it out. I'm 
blamed if I havn't been mad with that missionary, 
ever since I read his journal. It's a thousand pities he 
didn't take an observin' hunter with him, who'd a set 



234 Hills and Lakes. 

down on paper all about the wild beasts, and birds, 
and sucli things, while the missionary was writin' 
about the heathenish and savage Ingens. I'd give 
half a dozen bearskins for such a book, afore I'd give 
one for aU the red cusses between the St. Lawrence 
and the Eocky Mountains." 

" The ruhng passion, Tucker," said I. 

" I don't know precisely what you mean by the 
ruHn' passion. Squire," he replied, " but at this day, 
when the world knows the nater of an Ingen, and just 
what they're worth, it's no great things to read about 
'em, as they were two hundred years ago. But to my 
notion, as the country grows old, it's an interestin' study 
to look into things as they were so long back, and see 
what wild animals, birds, fishes, and such things, then 
existed ; to know what of them have been pushed en- 
tirely out of the world, and what of 'em have been 
left, and to understand what changes white men, and 
tame Life all around 'em, have worked on 'em. Now 
these things is a sealed book to us, jist because people 
that travelled in them days, didn't think what wonder- 
ful changes would be made in this great country, or 
were contrivin' how to make Christians and civihzed 
people of the Ingens. It's always been my opinion. 



The Indian. 235 

that the nateral place for an In gen, is in the woods, 
like the moose, painters, deer, and bear ; and that it's 
their fate to pass away with the forests, as them wild 
beasts do. I have hearn tell of some who have 
changed their ways, and become like white folks ; but 
it's my notion they're like some tame buffaloes I saw 
in a farmer's lot once, down on the Connecticut. They 
made blamed mean-lookin' cattle, and stayed there 
only because there was high fences around 'em, and 
no prairies or wood to fly to. The stock wasn't 
thought much on. It cost more to improve 'em than 
they're worth, and they'll die out, or be run out, by 
crossin' the breed at last. 



XXIV. 



A Wild Cat. — Long Neak. — Round Lake. — The Lower Saranao 
— A Fight between a Panther and a Bear 



We returned to the foot of the lake, and towards 
evening we bade adieu with regret to this most beauti- 
ful of all the sheets of water in this broad wilderness. 
We left it as we found it, sleeping alone in the old 
primeval forests, full of the belief that it would one 
day be the resort of the thousand tourists or pleasure- 
seekers, that fly from the hot atmosphere of the cities, 
to find quiet and repose in the country. We entered 
the Eacket again, and rowed quietly down some five 
miles to Long Neak, a quiet little lake, beautiful but 
differing entirely in its characteristics from Tupper's 
Lake. Some half a mile below Tupper's Lake, the 
river runs square against a solid wall of rocks, some 
seventy feet in height, and extending near a quarter 



A Wild Cat. 237 

of a mile laterally, from whicli the current glaucea 
away at a right angle, and flows for a mile or more 
through a natural meadow, which stretches away from 
either shore, to the width of fifty or more rods, to the 
woods that bound it. 

Long Neak is some four or five miles in length, by 
one mile in width. At the upper end of the lake, 
where the river enters, the land is high and bluff, while 
in looking down towards the outlet, the eye falls upon 
a wide, green, natural meadow, upon which stand 
thick foliaged trees, and as you look upon it, you can- 
not persuade yourself that you do not see a broad and 
beautiful farm, with an extensive orchard and brave 
old elms, left standing as shade trees, when the woods 
were cleared away. But it is all wilderness, just as it 
has been for thousands of years. We spent the day 
on this lake, and encamped on its bank at night. 

Just before daylight in the morning, Shack started 
up suddenly from his bed at our feet, and dashed 
furiously into the woods ; we heard him for a few 
rods, in hot pursuit of something, and then a clamber- 
ing, like some sharp-clawed animal, and we knew 
whatever he had dashed out after, had taken to a tree. 
We heard a low, intense growling up among the 



23§ Hills and Laz^b. 

brandies, and. my guide, as lie sprung to his feet, e^* 
claimed, " It's a wild*cat." 

This animal is not uncommon in these woods, 
though we had not as yet happened to see one. We 
cheered Shack on, and he sat barking at his game till 
the morning broke, when we saw at some thirty feet 
from the ground, stretched out along a great branch 
of an elm, a catamount,— ^his great, round, gray eyes 
watching, with intense malignity, his enemy below* 
His head lay over on one side of the branch, and he 
kept up a continued low growl. He would have been 
more than a match for the dog, with his great claws 
and sharp teeth, but he lacked courage to come down, 
and have a fair fight on the ground. When it was 
light enough to make a sure thing of it, I drew up by 
the side of a sapling, and aiming carefully at his skull, 
fired ; he drew his head back, with a convulsive jerk, 
between his fore feet, seemed to grasp, for a moment, 
more closely the limb on which he was perched, and 
then, as muscle after muscle relaxed, he rolled off, and 
dropped heavily to the ground. As he struck the 
earth, Shack was upon him ; but that was needless, — 
he was dead. He was a small animal of his kind,— 
five or six times larger than a house-cat, of gray, or 



EouND Lake. 289 

I'at'her a brindle color, with a liead large in proportion 
to his body, and a tail some eight or nine inches long. 

It was our intention originally to have traversed 
the whole line of wilderness, laying between Clinton, 
and the north of Herkimer counties, but we had dallied 
long by the way, and concluded to turn back to the 
foot of the Upper Saranac, and so out by the course 
of the Saranac river. We returned, therefore, to the 
foot of Tupper's Lake, and re -embarked. We visited 
the pigeon roost again on our way, and the evening 
of the next day found us at the cabin of the half-breed, 
on the bank of the little lake I have before spoken o£ 
He proffered me the use of his bed again ; but I had 
had enough of that bed, and preferred one of boughs, 
in a hastily-constructed shantee, on the lake shore. 

The next morning we passed on to the foot of the 
Upper Saranac, and re-embarking, paddled up some 
two or three miles to the outlet ; this we followed, 
and carrying our canoe a short distance round, or 
rather down the rapids, entered Bound Lake. This 
beautiful sheet of water, laying between the Upper and 
Lower Saranac, is properly named, being nearly round, 
and some ten or twelve miles in circumference. 

Towards the north-east shore, and half a mile from 



240 Hills and Lakes. 

tlie main land, is an island of one or two hundred 
acres. Here we landed, and gave Shack a chase after 
a noble buck, that seemed to have appropriated the 
island to himself. The third heat round the island, 
he took to the water, and, by our permission, escaped 
to the main land. He had a mighty sharp run of 
about twenty minutes, and he won't forget, in a hurry, 
his adventures of that day. We dined here on broiled 
partridge, having for our desert wild strawberries that 
grew on the island around us. After our siesta^ we 
started for the Lower Saranac, intending to pass the 
night on an island, a mile or two from the upper end 
of it. 

"I mind a story old Pete Meigs told me," said 
Tucker, as we floated down the lake, '' of a thing he 
saw once, over by the St. Regis Lake, a great many 
years ago, when he was out here alone in the woods. 
I've told you before, he was an old man, almost, when 
I was a boy, and he used to be away for weeks, and 
may be for months, alone among the woods, and lakes, 
and mountains of this wild region. He was a strange, 
solitary man, and a gloomy one sometimes. There 
was that in his history, that might well make him so, 
as I'll tell you afore we get home. He had no wife, 



The Panther and Bear. 241 

nor cliildren, nor any near kindred, and I believe lie 

loved me mor'n lie did all the rest of human kind. 

He didn't hate, or dislike anybody but an Ingen, and 

him he hated like pison, and well he might. If the 

dark deep woods could speak, they'd tell, may be, 

strange stories, of Ingens that crossed old Pete's trail 

in the forest, and never got back to their wigwams. 

But that Vv^as long, long ago, while the grass was 

growin' on the graves of his father, and mother, and 

sisters, and brother, massacred by the murderin' cusses, 

and the thirst for vengeance was rank in his heart. 

But what I was goin' to tell you, is this : 

" One day, he was passin' from St. Eegis to Big 

Clear Pond, and in goin' over a ridge had sat down 

on the trunk of a fallen tree to rest. As he sat there, 

he heard a crashin' through the brush, as of some 

animal, that seemed to be in a monstrous hurry to get 

away from somethin' that he seemed to think, warn't 

a great v/ays behind him. Presently a bear rushed 

by him, over the ridge, gruntin' and talkin' to himself, 

as is the way of the animal sometimes. He seemed to 

be orfully afraid of something, but had no idea that old 

Pete, and his rifle was around. Them things warn't 

very healthy for bears, and if that one had knowed 

11 



242 Hills and Lakes. 

where tbej were, I've a notion twouldn't have quieted 
his feelin's much. In less than a minute, the old man 
heard the long bounds of another animal, comin' like 
death on the trail of the bear, and a great painter, 
with every hair towards his head, rushed like fury by 
him, over the ridge in pursuit. Old Pete didn't feel 
sorry just then, that the animal hadn't seen him, but 
that didn't prevent his runnin' to the other side of the 
ridge, to see the fight, that from the nater of things, 
seemed sure to take place. Well, sure enough, about 
forty or fifty rods down the side of the valley, where 
the brush warn't thick enough to hide 'em, he saw 'em 
come together. The bear, the old man said, saw 
twasn't any use to run any further, and as the painter 
came on, he sot himself upon his rump, and faced 
him, and such a set of ivory as he showed, was a sight 
to see. But twarn't no use ; the painter's back was 
up, and without stoppin' to ask any questions, he 
pitched in, and over, and over they went, down the 
hill, the bear hollerin' and bitin', and the painter 
screamin' and bitin' back, and tearin' with his long 
claws. The fight didn't last a great while. The teeth 
and claws of the painter, was altogether too much for 
the bear, and twarn't many minutes till 'twas aU over, 



The Death. 243 

abvi s.he bear was dead enougli. After tlie fight, tlie 
pain^jt seemed satisfied. He warn't mucli hurt, and 
fell to rolliii' himself over and over, among the leaves, 
and slic^in' himself along on his sides, as you've seen 
a dog do^ to wipe the blood off his hide, and then fell 
to licken' his legs and sides, and whatever other parts 
of his boi}^ ha could get at, to make himself look 
decent and proper again. Old Pete thought 'twas 
time for him to take part in the fraj ; so creepin' to 
within shootin' distance, he sighted the painter with his 
long rifle, and | ulled. The animal sprung into the air. 
and after tearin^ the earth, and strugglin' and kickin', 
lay still; and the old man took his hide, as well as that 
of the bear, and went ahead. What the cause of the 
quarrel between them two animals was, old Pete 
couldn't find out, but it was pretty clear the bear had 
been meddlin' with something that didn't concern 
him, and got himself into a scrape that cost him his 
life. 

" A painter, Squire, is an animal that has an on* 
pleasant way with him, when his back's up, and it's 
well enough for everybody, and every animal, too, in 
these wood, to keep out of his way, and give him all 
the trail at such times. I never happened to see but 



244 Hills akd Lakes. 

one, under sucli circumstanceSj and lie was so disabled 
he couldn't get at me. Both his hind legs was broke, 
by a shot I gave him, but he told me plain enough, 
that if he'd been well, 'twould have been an onpleasant 
neighborhood for me. I've hearn tell of the lightnin' 
in the eyes of a furious animal, and I reckon I saw it 
in his, and glad enough I was, to stand back, out of 
his reach. I settled him with a bullet through the 
head. Unless provoked or starved, he won't med^ 
die with a man. Let him alone, and he'll let you 
alone. Like all other animals of his kind, he's got 
more strength than courage, and unless cornered, don't 
like to fight. I never feel afraid of painters. I've 
shot a good many, first and last, but as a general 
thing I shouldn't meddle with 'em unless I could have 
a dead shot. Woundin' a painter, or a bear, is a bad 
business, as IVe heard, and I've let 'em escape afore 
now, when I wasn't sure of killin' ^em at the first shot. 
They're most all gone now, and it's only once in a 
great while, that we hear of one. Five and twenty 
years ago, \t warn't much of a thing to brag on, to 
bring in the skin of a painter, or a bear. But they're 
passin' away, and it won't be long till we'll have to look 
into history for an account of 'em, as well as of the 



The Last of the Guides. 245 

moose, and catamounts of the Shatagee countrj^ The 
Ingens are all gone, and the other wild things will fol- 
low, and such men as old Pete Meigs and I, will be 
gone too. People won't want a guide, for there won't 
be forest enough to get lost in. It won't be any great 
loss to the world, may be, we ain't of much practical 
use ; and when our vocation's gone, we won't be 
wanted any longer." 



XXV. 



The Geowth of Amsrica. — Its Past, Present, and Future. — 
A Woodman's Idea of Expansion. 



"We rested for an hour, within the shadow of the 
mountain, near the south-western margin of the 
Lower Saranac. Though the day had been exceed- 
ingly hot and sultry, it was delightfully cool and 
pleasant here. The leaves stood still on the trees, and 
no wave ruffled the bosom of the lake. The shore 
was piled up with boulders, and the bottom, destitute 
of grass and weeds, and covered with clean smooth 
stones, shelved away into the deep waters, wherein we 
could see, as we looked over the side of the canoe, 
abundance of trout glancing and sporting beneath us. 
We did not trouble them. We were too indolent, 
and happy for that. I can conceive of no paradise, to 
one who is pressed by no care, who loves quiet, who 
has a taste for wild, natural scenery, like that of float- 



The Past History of America. 247 

ing of an afternoon, along the shores of one of these 
beautiful lakes, in the deep shadows which the hills 
throw out upon the water, listening to the forest 
sounds, breathing the pure air of the mountains, and 
looking upon the green woods that stretch away, and 
in receding upward seem to pierce the sky in the 
distance. 

" Squire," said mv guide, " I've often thought that 
this country was intended, one day, to make a great 
noise among the nations of the airth. It has gone 
ahead with such wonderful long strides, since it got 
free from the hold that England had upon its neck, 
and is pushin^ forward so fast, that no man can calcu- 
late when, or where it'll stop. I've read iu books, and 
hearn it told, by men who had studied into the matter, 
that when GiNERAL WASHiNaTON had got through 
with his fightin', and sent his army home from the 
warS; there wasn't more'n three millions of people in 
all the United States, and that they were about as 
poor as seven, or eight years of fightin', and other 
troubles could make 'em. That there warn't any f ic- 
tories or machine-shops to speak of, in all the country. 
That the States hadn't any ships on the ocean, and 
not a water-craft on the great lakes. That there wasn't 



248 Hills AND Lakes. 

a canal in the whole country, and that the government 
owed hundreds of millions of dollars, and hadn't the 
first red cent to pay with. 

That was a bad fix for a country to be in, Squire, 
and he would have been a pretty bold man, who 
would have ventured in them days, to foretell what a 
wonderful change sixty-five years would bring about. 
Call back, if such a thing could be, the spirit of one 
of the men of the revolutionary times, and show him 
what this country has become, and may be, he 
wouldn't open his eyes some. Take him around the 
country, and show him the swarmin' hosts of twenty- 
five millions of people, in place of the three millions 
he left, when he laid down in the grave. Take him 
out on the sea, and show him the great ships of this 
country, saihn' to every part of the world, loaded with 
the goods of her merchants, and her tall war- vessels, 
lookin' into every harbor of the ocean. Point out to 
him her mills and her factories, standin' wherever a 
stream comes down from the mountains, or a river 
leaps over a precipice, the clank of their machinery, 
minglin' with the roar of the waters. Tell him to look 
upon the canals, broad as rivers, extendin' through 
the great State of JSTew York, from the tide waters, 



Its Peesent History. 249 

away to Lake Erie, and Lake Ontario, and old CHam- 
plain, and show kim tke four or five thousand boats, 
constantly movin' upon their waters. Point out to 
him the tracks of the railroads, crossin' each other all 
over the face of the country, like lines upon a checker- 
board, and show him the iron horse dashin' away 
with his long train of cars, thirty and may be forty 
miles an hour, and let him hear his mighty scream. 
Tell him to look upon the great rivers, and see the 
gigantic steamboats movin' away, like a whole street 
of a city, fifteen or twenty miles an hour, agin' wind 
and tide. Tell him that every dollar of them hundreds 
of millions, has been paid, and that mor'n forty mill* 
ions have been divided among the States. Tell him 
that the thirteen States, that he left behind him, have 
come to be thirty-one. That some of them are away 
down on the Gulf of Mexico, and one of 'em on the 
other side of the Kocky Mountains. I reckon, when 
he comes to understand all this, he'd be considerably 
astonished, and would wonder how it could all have 
happened. 

It's a curious thing, Squire, to look back and see 
how amazingly this country has gone ahead, and to 

follow its trail, as it moved, like a giant, onward. 

11* 



260 Hills and Lakes. 

Some fifty years ago, slie opened the line fence tliat 
was on the outside of her, and when it was built up 
again, Florida and Louisiana, with their millions upon 
millions of acres, land enough for half a dozen king- 
doms, was on the inside of it. Another gap was 
opened, four or five years ago, and the State of Texas 
was fenced into the enclosure. Later still, the old line 
fence was pulled away, and when it was built up 
again, it had nearly as much again of territory inside 
of it, as it had before^ and all the wonderful gold 
mines of Californy, in the bargain ; and now while she 
holds fast to all this, she's talkin' about fencin' in 
Cuba and the whole of Mexico, and lookin' on the 
other side, even of them, to see what lays over there, 
to be speculated on, when she's secured them. 

'' This country, Squire, ain't like any other country 
in the world. Its airly history ain't like the history 
of any other. Its first settlers warn't like the settlers 
of any other, and its people ain't like any other people. 
This warn't a country, when it was wild and nateral 
like, that folks could come to, and live easj^, and get 
rich quick. There warn't any gold or silver mines, to 
fill their money-bags with, nor weak people to be 
plundered of their wealth, nor rich nations to be | 



The Early Settlers. 251 

spoiled. The only people that were here, were the 
savage Ingens, that lived in the woods like wolves, 
and all the property they had to be plundered of, were 
their bows and arrows. The great forests stood just 
where they were from the beginnin' of time, stretchin' 
away and away, hundreds of miles from the sea. 
Them great forests had to be chopped away, tree by 
tree, and cleared off, for the growth of grain. That 
was a mighty labor, Squire, that lay before the airly 
settlers of this country. Weak men couldn't perform 
it, and lazy men wouldn't. It was a job that men 
who loved their ease, and didn't like work, wouldn't 
undertake. It took stout-hearted men to face that 
work, and the dangers and hardships of this country, 
two hundred years ago, and courageous ones too. 
The tomahawk and the scalpin' knife, were things that 
had an unpleasant look in timid men's eyes, and they 
kept out of sight of 'em. 

" The men that left their birth-places, and the old 
homes they loved so well, and swung out on the ocean, 
to seek on this side of the great waters, a dwellin' 
})lace in liie wilderness, were strong minded, workin 
men. They were men of iron frames, and iron consti 
tutions, and of iron wills too. They were courageous, 



252 Hills and Lakes. 

fearless men, who could face clanger, and battle with 
hardships. Thej were God-fearing men, who brought 
the Bible and the religion of their fathers with them. 
Thej fell to work on the ancient forest trees, and 
every blow thej struck, told them of their own worth. 
As those old forest trees, that the storm could not 
bend, nor the whirlwind break, came crashin' and 
thunderin' to the ground, before the strength of their 
arms, each one, as it fell, told the story of their power. 
The acres they cleared, and the crops ]3lanted by their 
hands, as they waved in the summer winds, preached 
to them of the dignity of human labor, and the value 
of the men, who could change the wilderness into a 
fruitful field. As years rolled on, and the fields 
pushed back the woods further and further, they 
looked, with a just pride, upon the victory they had 
gained over nater. The very dangers, and trials, and 
hardships they had to go through, made them rely 
upon themselves, trustin' not to kings or princes for 
protection, but to their own right arms, and the good 
Providence that watched over 'em. The laws of Old 
England were well enough for the cities and towns, 
and thickly -peopled country, but they warn't fitted for 
the woods and the forests, and the new clearin's of 



The People. 258 

America. They wouldn't answer for a country in its 
infancy, just snatched, as one might say, from the 
hand of nater, and the hardy settlers had to make new 
ones for themselves. They went on legislatin' and 
legislatin' accordin' to their necessities, till at last they 
learned the great fact, that an honest people could 
govern themselves, without the aid of kings, and 
princes, and lords, and sich like expensive contriv- 
ances. The skulkin' Ingens made them watchful. 
Every man had his musket or his rifle, to protect 
himself and his family agin' the murderin' cusses. He 
took his fire-arms with him to the field, when he went 
to labor, and to the church, when he went to meetin'. 
In this way every man became a soldier, and, while 
he protected himself, and helped to protect his neigh- 
bor, he kept on clearin' away the woods, and pushin' 
forward the fields, and tillin' the ground, and makin' 
himself useful, beyond carryin' a gun, and livin' in 
idleness upon other people's labor. In this way they 
found out another great fact, that standin' armies 
were a useless contrivance, and cost more than they 
were worth. As they went on, they found it neces- 
sary to have ofiicers to carry out the laws they made, 
and as every man in the settlements was known, they 



254 Hills and Lakes. 

cliose their best men as their rulers. Thej got to- 
gether, and agreed Avho should be their governors, and 
sheriffs, and justices of the peace, and constables. In 
this way they came to the knowledge of yet another 
great fact, that they could get along best by always 
choosin' their own rulers. Now, Squire, it was a 
nateral thing for men, who had swept away the old 
primeval forests, and spread out broad farms, where 
before they came, was a great wilderness, when they 
looked upon the wonderful labor they had performed, 
I say it was a nateral thing, that they should form a 
pretty good opinion of themselves, and feel about 
equal to any king on his throne, or any lazy lord in 
liis palace. "When they thought of the savage Ingens 
they had overcome, the dangers they had passed 
through, without the aid of the country they came 
from, it was a nateral thing that they should feel a 
sturdy independence, that didn't ask any favors of 
anybody. You see. Squire, how the people who of 
old built up the government of this country, begun at 
the bottom, away back at the beginnin'. They learned 
the great lesson of self-government, of republicanism, 
from its ABC. They warn't a people that had been 
ground down by hard task-masters, till their ambition 



Their Independence. 255 

and spirit was all gone, and tlien rose up, only because 
human nater could bear no more. Their indepen- 
dence wasn't brought about by a spirit maddened by 
wrongs, and thirstin' for vengeance, nor did they take 
up self-government and republicanism, because kings 
and lords had oppressed them. They began when 
they were few and weak, and hadn't any great kings 
or lords to take care of 'em. They were bound to- 
gether by common necessities and common dangers. 
Their form of government was a thing they couldn't 
help. They studied republicanism without knowin' 
it, and because they couldn't help it. They went on, 
takin' care of themselves and providin' for themselves, 
till they didn't know or think of any other way of 
gittin' along at all, and when they got to be great and 
strong, they couldn't change their habits, and go back 
to kingly rule. Their independence was the nateral 
consequence of their situation, and they were repub- 
licans, because, when they first went into the wilder- 
ness, they couldn't be anything else. They hadn't any 
king, and there warn't any way of making one, and 
they got along so well without him, that they found 
out he warn't of any use any how. 

" I'm thinkin', Squire, 'twas a good thing for the 



256 Hills and Lakes. 

world, that the seed of our. kind of government should 
have been sown away off in the wilderness, three thou- 
sand miles from the old kingly governments, where it 
could take root in a nateral way, and grow up regular, 
till it got to be strong. If the old kings of Europe 
had known that there was a young giant over the 
ocean, sleepin' off here in the forests, and knowd that 
his joints were knittin', and his bones and muscles 
growin' in strength, and that he would one day rise 
up, and snatch the richest jewels from some of their 
crowns, they'd have taken some considerable pains to 
strangle him in his cradle. But they didn't know it, 
and the young giant himself didn't know the strength 
he was gatherin', and he grew on, till 'twas thought 
he could be harnessed into servitude. Then he reared 
himself like a giant, as he was, and defied the world. 

" Now, Squire, the people that settled this country 
were of the kind to push ahead and keep movin'. 
They did such great and wonderful things in con- 
vertin' the wilderness into green fields, that they took 
up the notion that there warn't anything that they 
couldn't do. They learned their children to march 
on. March on, has been the word for more than two 
hundred years, and it will be the word for two hun- 



Their Influence. 257 

dred years more. This country is young and healtlay, 
with a sound constitution, and hain't got any chronic 
disease about it, and it can't do anything else but 
march on. It hain't got its growth yet, by a long 
shot. It ain't done fillin' np with people, nor spreadin' 
out sideways either. It will keep on extendin' and 
extendin, till God only knows where its outside line 
will finally be. Our people are an ambitious people, 
proud of their government and tbeir liberty. They've 
got a way of makin' the people of other countries free, 
whether they choose to be free or not. If they don't 
like it, 'tis said to be because they ain't used to it, and 
don't know what's for their good. I've a notion that 
the time will come, when all America will be one 
great brotherhood of States, livin' under a common 
government, and the same institutions." 



XXVI. 

Manifest Destiny.— Young America on the Move. 

*' Well," said I, " Tucker, you are making up a 
pretty extensive government. This bringing a whole 
continent under a common rule, will be trying a haz- 
ardous experiment. Will there be no danger of your 
great Eepublic falling to pieces, from its own weight, 
and will it not be troubled by the discordant elements 
that you would bring together ?" 

" Squire," he replied, " it would take a wiser, and 
more larned man than me, to argy them pints, so as 
to make 'em j^lain to a doubtin' mind. I've a notion 
they are pints that can't be made very clear by any- 
body, larned or simple, till the experiment, as you 
call it, has been tried. I've thought, and studied 
about the things you speak of, a good deal, and have 
made up my own mind in regard to them, though, 



The Union. 259 

may be I couldn't make any body else believe as I do 
myself, and I don't mean to try. I'm of too little ac- 
count in the world, to undertake to change things, and 
so I let 'em move on ; but I'll tell you what I think, 
because you won't say I'm conceited, or laugh at my 
simple idees. 

" The States that made up this government, as I 
said before, were once very small and weak, and were 
a great ways apart, considerin' the means people had 
of gettin' about in them days. They were under dif- 
ferent governors and rulers, jist as the different nations 
on this continent, now are. When trouble came upon 
them, they united together agin' the strong power of 
England, and when they broke loose from that power, 
they agreed to go on together still. The States didn't 
surrender their independence when they formed the 
Union. They didn't become one great consolidated 
government, except so far as the outside world was 
concerned. In everything that related to other na- 
tions, such as makin' treaties, and carryin' on wars, 
and regulatin' commerce, and sich matters, they were 
one government. Them things, with a good many 
other things, concernin' the general welfare, the States 
surrendered to the general government, because they 



260 Hills and Lakes. 

couldn't get along any other way. But eacli State 
was, for all that, independent of every other State, 
and of all the other States, and of the general govern- 
ment toO; so far as its own particular affairs was con- 
cerned. It made its own laws, and elected its own 
governors, and other ofl&cers, without bein' answerable 
to the general government at all. It was, so far as its 
own matters, and all that related to the rights of its 
own people and the management of its own affairs 
was concerned, just as independent as England, or 
any other nation in the world. Well, when the Union 
was thus formed, all the old statesmen of Europe, 
laughed in their sleeves at the cob-house, they thought 
the Americans were buildin' up, and they laid their 
fingers on their noses, and winked at one another, as 
much as to say, ' see how quick it'll tumble to pieces.' 
It was a new thing to 'em, and so different from their 
notions of government, and so onlike anything they'd 
ever seen or heard tell of, or read about in books, that 
they looked to see it go down, in no time. But it 
didn't go down. It went on prosperin' and growin' 
stronger and stronger, and multiplyin' and increasin', 
and spreadin' out in a way that was surprisin' to the 
wise men of the old world. The thirteen States came to 



ExTEKsioN OF Territory. 261 

be fifteen, or sixteen, and tlien Louisiana and Florida 
were taken in, and then 'twas said tlie Union would go 
down, sure. 'Twas said by the pretended prophets, 
that Florida was Spanish, and Louisiana was French, 
and both Were Catholic, and that there would be a dis- 
turbance right off. But the Union didn't go down, and 
there wasn't any disturbance. The fifteen or sixteen 
States went on increasin' to twenty, and then twenty- 
five, and so on till Texas came in, and then there was a 
talk about the cob-house goin' down agin. But it stood 
up stronger than ever. The United States took a great 
slice from Mexico, and divided it into territories, and 
a State, and them thirteen States, have come to be 
thirty-one, and in two or three years will be thirty* 
five, and there hain't been any disturbance among 
'em yet, and there's no signs of there bein' any. There 
ain't a joint weakened, nor any screw loosened that I 
can see, anywhere. Everthing moves on, just as 
fimooth and regular, as it did sixty years ago, when 
there warn't but thirteen States, and four or five mill* 
ions of people all told. Now, Squire, if them thirteen 
States could grow to be thirty-one, and double the ter- 
ritory they had at the beginning, without bein' weak- 
ened by it, I don't see why the thirty-one can't grow 



262 Hills and Lakes, 

to be a hundred States, and spread out to any extent 
without fallin' to pieces. You see, Squire, the States, 
though no great things, considered separately, are in- 
dependent governments, makin' their own laws, and 
choosin' their own officers, each acting for itself, so far 
as its own affairs are concerned, without askin', or 
consultin' any power on airth. But when anything 
turns up from abroad, they all go together. The gen* 
eral government, backed by the concentrated strength 
of all the States actin' together as one, is a mighty 
power, and will be mightier still, as every new State 
comes into the Union, and outsiders will think twice 
before they cross its trail. This gives the States a se- 
curity, and protection from other nations, that they 
couldn't enjoy out of the Union. 

" Suppose Mexico should become a portion of this 
government, and with her half dozen States, run up 
the stars and stripes, what would she lose by it, and 
what could she find to complain of? Each one of 
them States, would make its own laws, choose its own 
governors and judges, and all other officers, and send 
its own members to Congress. Each would be just as 
independent as York State is. The general government 
couldn't and it wouldn't interfere with it, for such inter- 



The Annexation of Mexico. 263 

ference would be steppin' on the toes of every other State 
in the Union, and they'd all jine in puttin' a stop to it, 
about the quickest. Mexico wouldn't lose anything, 
by coming into the Union. And see what she'd gain. 
Everybody knows she ain't of much account now, 
among the nations. She hasn't got any navy to speak 
of; and her army, tho' it makes a great deal of noise 
and disturbance, and a good deal of trouble at home, 
don't scare anybody on the outside of her. England or 
France, or any other of the great powers that want 
anything of Mexico, sends down there a great war- 
vessel, with cannon looking out of its sides. The 
captain dickers, and argues, about the matter in hand, 
while the sailors are polishin' up the big guns, and 
trainin' them for use. Mexico sees what is goin' on, 
and takes the hint, and gives in. 

'* Now bring Mexico into the Union, and I'd like 
to know which of the great powers would undertake 
such a trick as that. I'd like to know which of 'em 
v/ould undertake to dictate to her, or tell her what she 
must do. If a war-vessel was sent down there. Uncle 
Sam would have one along side of her, and there'd 
be more polishin' of guns than would be done by the 
British. They'd find somebody just as sassy, and just 



264 Hills and Lakes* 

as ready for a scrimmage, and that could strike just 
as liard, as themselveSj and no mistake. There 
wouldn't be any struttin' about, and talkin' big, and 
threatening' to raise cain, generally, and if there was, 
there would be somebody on the other side, rollin' up 
their sleeves, and showin' a pretty big bunch of bones, 
that could hit hard, when blows come to be the order 
of the day. The States of Mexico could go on, 
workin' their mines, and improvin' their people, and 
takin' care of their inside affairs^ while the general 
government would see that nobody troubled them 
from -without Kow, Squire, I don't see why Mexico 
wouldn't be happier, and more prosperous, and better 
off every way, inside of the Union, than she is out of 
it. She'd have her own home legislater, and govern- 
ment, and an equal voice with the same number of 
people of New York, in the general government. It's 
my opinion, when once fairly in, you couldn't drive 
her out without resortin' to a much greater amount of 
oppression and wrong, than can be practiced under 
our form of government. What would be thus true 
of Mexico, would be true of all the other govern- 
ments, down to South America. 'Twould be so much 
to their interest to be inside of the line fence, that it's 



Manifest Destiny. 265 

mj belief they'd be very glad to stay, when tliey got 
into the enclosure. The principles that have kept the 
States together thus far; that holds the thirty-one 
States under a common government, are strong 
enough, and broad enough, to keep a hundred States 
together — and that if our form of government will 
answer for the territory we've got now, it'll answer for 
all North America, and may be for South America, 
too." 

'' Why," said I, " Tucker, you're a ' manifest des- 
tiny' man, and go with the 'Young America' j^arty." 

" I ain't a politician," he replied, " and don't be- 
long to any party. I make it a pint always to vote, if 
it's only to keep me in mind that I'm a free man, and 
entitled to a voice in makin' the officers, and laws by 
wliioh I'm to be ruled. I've hearn a good many peo- 
ple talk about the country bein' in danger, and the 
Union unsafe. I never believed a v/ord of it. I've 
hearn them talk larnedly about the trouble, that 
might be looked for, from spreadia' out so fast. I 
never believed a word of that. This countrv has 
bc^n sprea':Mn' ou\ from the- time the vrhi+p rr-an's axe 
hewed down its iirit lorcsx tree, and every acre ihat's 

been added to it, has made it stronger. So I say the 

12 



266 Hills and Lakes. 

country ain't in danger,- nor the Union unsafe, and 
won't be for two liundrecl years to corfle» 

" I mind when Gineral Jackson, Old Hickory, as 
we called liim, w\as runnin' for President, we all went 
for him in these parts,, because he beat the British, 
and Avhipped the cussed red-skins. There was a 
meetin' down to Plattsburgh,- and a man came over 
from Yarmount, to speak to the people. He was a 
tonguey fellow, and spoke like a book. He talked 
about the tariff, and the bank, and protection to 
American labor, and a hundred other things, that he 
said General Jackson would m_ake a smash of, and 
wound up by tellin' about this glorious Union bein' 
in danger, and how it would go to ruin, if the Gineral 
was elected President, and called upon every honest 
man to go agin' him. Old Pete Meigs was at the 
meetin', and I never saw him so riled in my life as he 
was, to hear the Gineral spoken agin'. When the 
Yarmounter got through, the old man got onto a bench 
to answer hiin. He warn't, as you may suppose, any 
great shakes at speech-makin', and I don't believe he 
ever tried it on, but that once, but he had a good deal 
of nateral sense in him, and could shoot pretty near 
the mark, whei his back was up. 'Look here, 



Safety of the tlNioir. 267 

Mistei/ tie roared, ' dida't Gineral Jackson lick the 
murder, i' Seminoles, and bring the red cusses to their 
marroAv bones, and make them beg like dogs? An- 
swer n^e that.' The Varmounter couldn't get bye 
givin' ill to that. 'Didn't he lick the British,' he 
went on, ' at New Orleans, and send the red-coats, 
that he didn't knock on the head, scamperin' home, 
carrjin' their Grineral with 'em in a puncheon of 
rum ?' This, too, the Varmounter couldn't deny. 

* Then,' said old Pete, ' the man that says the country 
won't be safe, with Old Hickory, who larruped the 
Ingens, and whipped the British, as President, is a 
lyin' deceivin' cuss ; and now, boys,' he continued, 

* all of you that go in for the old soldier, off hats and 
hurrah lor Jackson.' Squire, you ought to have 
hearn the hurrah that followed. May be the house 
didn't shake much with the shout that went up. and 
old Pete had to drink more'n once that night, on ac- 
count of the speech he made. Well, Old Hickory 
was elected, and the country is safe, and the Union as 
strong as ever. The truth is, the Union seems to get 
shaky, and require savin' about as often as the election 
of President comes round, and it always is saved, 
somehow or other, no matter which party comes out 



268 Hills A2Cd Lakes* 

ahead. It has a way of savin' itself, or, may be, it is 
always saved, because 'twarn't never in dauger. I 
say again, I don't belong to any party, but I vote 
every year for the men I like best ; not to help save 
the Union, but because I'm proud of the right of 
votin', and regard it as a duty to exercise it. It's a 
privilege that poor men don't enjoy in many countries. 
" And now. Squire, you spoke of a party called 
' Young America.' I never heard the name afore, 
that I know of, but it is an expressive one, and I sup- 
pose it means the party that's in favor of goin' aheadj 
branchin' out, and of movin' the outside fence farther 
off every way, and, as I heard a man say once, ex- 
tendin' the area of freedom. Well, a great deal of 
wrong may be done by such a party, if it's ambitious, 
and don't stop to inquire about the rights of the coun- 
tries and people it desires to fence in. If it thinks to 
go on, because this country is strong, and able to do 
what it's a mind to, with nations weaker than itself, 
and to use its strength by forcin' the choice, and com- 
pellin' the will of its neighbors, then ' Young America' 
is a hurtful party, and I'm agin' it. But if it's a party 
that simply means to extend the country, by fair 
ways, by lettin' all come in that want to, and pei 



you:N""G America. 269 

suadin' as many as it can to do so, if it's a party that 
ain't afraid of spreadin' out, and holds to the belief 
that our form of government is able to sustain the 
Yf eight and size of all North America, and that seeks 
by honest means to give it that extent, and is willin' 
to try what you call the experiment of a government 
embracin' so much, then it's a good partj^, and I go in 
for it." 



XXVII 



Thb Lower Sabanac. — The Bald Easle. — Umbrella Island— 
Ball-face Mountain. — Mount Marcy. 



The Lower Saranac is smaller tlian the Upper 
Lake, and like it, lias several beautiful islands. "We 
found no deer, on the one on wliicli we bivouacked 
tkat niglit, but a partridge, and a large gray squirrel, 
and some fine trout, together with the heavy biscuit 
procured at the half-breed's, made a comfortable sup- 
per. Towards sundown, we saw a long wake in the 
water, made by something swimming from the shore 
of the main land towards the island. Its progress was 
slow, and, whatever it was, was too small and low in 
the water to be distinctly seen. We watched it, how- 
ever, until it landed, and it proved to be a gTay squir- 
rel that had swam over, perhaps on a visit, to the one 
we had just made a supper upon. It is no uncommon 
thing for these little animals, when the lake is calm, 



A Bald Eagle 271 

to swim to and from tiiese islands. I remember, when 
I was a boy, to bave caugbt more than one black 
squirrel, in the crooked lake, that had essayed to 
swim across it. a distance of nearly or quite a mile ; 
and I have seen many carcasses of those that had been 
drowned in the effort, and drifted ashore. 

In a little bay at the north end of the lake, we 
spent the night. This bay contains perhaps a hun- 
dred acres, and from the beach you look away south, 
througli a narrow opening betiween the hills, till the 
view is lost among the clustering islands of this beau- 
tifal sheet of water. The morniug was still and pleas- 
ant, the air genial and bracing, as we started out from 
the bay towards an island, some three or four miles 
distant. The lake was placid and calm, and save 
where the trout leaped from the water, or the wake of 
our boat, that stretched in a long line of light behind 
UB, on which the morning sunbeams danced, no ripple 
disturbed its surface. On a dry tree, that stood on 
one of the points that stretched lake ward, forming the 
little ba}^, sat a bald eagle, I hoped to get near 
enough to bring him down with my rifle ; but his 
keen eye was wide open, and before I got within 
shooting distance, he leaped upward from his perch, 



272 Hills and Lakes. 

stretched his broad wings, and soared majestically 
away. Nearest the foot of the lake, and just outside 
the bay, are two beautiful islands, called The Sisters. 
They contain perhaps an acre each, and are covered 
with a thick growth of evergreens. 

As we rowed along up the lake, we trailed a long 
line behind lis, trolling for the lake-trout. At length 
the bait Vv^as seized by what, to me, was a monster fish, 
and I reeled him in on a line of a hundred and fifty 
feet. He struggled and flonndercd, and leaped from 
the Avater, and dove again for the bottom, — went 
skiving away to the right and left, in his hard battle 
for life, — ^but the hook was in his jaw, and after a fight 
of nearly half an hour, he lay exhausted in the boat, a 
lake-trout of five pounds in weight. This is not the 
season for trolling, and we caught no more in this 
way. In the middle of the lake rises a barren rock, 
standing all alone, treeless and shrubless, lifting its 
bare head some twenty or thirty feet from the water. 

Off to the right, and at a quarter of a mile distant, 
is Umbrella Island, which takes its name from a t.dngu- 
lar tree standing near its centre. This island is cov- 
ered with low green trees, but from the midst of which 
shoots up a tall pine, its trunk straight and bare, some 



BalL'FAce Mountain. 273 

fifty feet above the surrounding foliage, and tlien 

spreads out in a broad evergreen tuft, like an urn- 

brella. This curious tree may be seen for miles, 

standing there solitary and alone, like a giant among 

pigmies, and, not inaptly, gives a cognomen to the 

little island above which it towers. 

Away off to the north-east, miles and miles away, 

the mountain |)eaks are seen, moveless and solemn, 

like vast pillars sustaining the sky. Conspicuous and 

tallest among them is the Ball-face Mountain. This 

gigantic peak seems to be everywhere present. You 

see it from Keeseville, seemingly between you and 

the Saranacs. You see it from " The Forks," twelve 

miles up the Au Sable, apparently in the same place 

and at about the same distance. It is before you still, 

when you cross the high table land, ten miles further 

on. It looks down upon you from the Franklin Falls, 

another ten miles further west. It is in plain sight 

here, five and twenty miles west again. You see it as 

you are floating on Tapper's Lake, still another thirty 

miles west, and you rejoice that you have weathered 

the giant, that seems to be watching you all the long 

day. This lofty peak goes up from a range of moun» 

tains, which lays between the sources of the Saranac 

12* 



274 Hills and Lakes. 

and those of the An Sable, farther north and west 
than the Adirondacks ^^i^oper. Beyond this range lay 
the Adirondacks, and dim and shadoYfy, looming 
darkly in the haze, are seen Mount Marcy, Mount 
Seward, and other less notable peaks. These stand 
away off behind the ridge spoken of, like tall gren- 
adiers, looking over the front ranks of small combat- 
ants, overtopping all, save the tall old " white-faced" 
commander. He stands out always, like Saul among 
the prophets, from his shoulders upward, taller than 
his fellows. On one of the islands we found a deer, 
which Shack coursed at his best speed, twice around 
the island. The third heat it took to the water, and 
we put out in our canoe after it, but on overtaking it, 
we found it to be a doe, the lean condition of which, 
indicated that it had a fawn to provide for, and Ave 
left it unharmed, and turned back. The animal 
seemed glad enough to part company with us, and we 
saw it look back as it ascended the bank on the main 
land; as if saying, that our a,bsence was vastly more 
agreeable than our company. 

In the afternoon, having drawn our canoe from 
the water, and concealed it in a thicket, we bid good- 
bye to the Saranac lakes, and struck off north-W-est, 



CoLEBY's Pond. 275 

• 

towards Coleby's Poncl, or Lake. This lake is some 
two or three miles distant from the Lower Saranac. 
We found a canoe at the head of a little bay that ex- 
tended landward, beneath the branches of some old 
elms that formed a green arch over the water, shutting 
out the sun-light, and making an arbor as delightfully 
cool and sweet, as the imagination can conceive. These 
little bays, are the most beautiful spots in nature. 
There is a romantic sort of pleasure in letting the 
water-craft, in which you are seated, float away into 
one of them, in the heat of the day, and beneath the 
branches of the brave old trees, whose spreading arms 
and clustering foliage give you a shade that a Houri 
might envy, light your segar, and give yourself up to 
the luxury of repose. 

In the night, we shot a fine young deer, as he was 
feeding in the water. This pond, or lake, is some 
three or four miles in circumferencCj and, like all the 
other lakes in this region, abounds in trout. The 
weather continuing exceedingly warm and sultrj^, we 
felt in no hurry to leave this beautiful sheet of water. 
It was the last of the series, and we resolved to re- 
main quiet, for a day or two, and as Tucker expressed 
it, take things easy. 



276 Hills and Lakes. 

"I've been thinkin', Squire," said lie, " 'twould be 
a pleasant thing, for you city people, to spend one of 
tbe hot months, every season, off here among these 
lakes and mountains, in a quiet way, huntin' andfishin,' 
and lookin' about just enough to keep nater a goin' ; 
sleepin' on green boughs at night, and sweatin' among 
the hills in the day time. There's no pestilence in the 
pure air of this region, and a few weeks out here in 
the woods, v/ould drive out all the seeds of disease, 
planted in the system by the foul atmosphere of the 
cities. 'Twould drive away that sallow paleness, from 
the faces of your young men, and make 'em strong. 
People keep good hours, in the woods. They go to 
roost with the birds, when the darkness comes down, 
and they're up as soon as the stars go out, and they 
see the sun rise in the mornin'. They ain't spendin' 
their nights at the theatres, and clubs, drinkin' cold 
punch, and smokin' cigars, and doin' a hundred other 
things that bring on old age afore its time, instead of 
layin' themselves quietly away to rest ; and then they 
don't swelter all night in the bad air of a close room, 
that the morning breeze never looks into, and their 
lungs ain't poisoned by the smoke and vapor of ten 
thousand cookin' stoves, and forges, and machine- 



A Sick Man. 277 

shops, and gas fixens, and sich contrivances. There's 
no crowded rooms off here in the woods, and the air 
a man breathes at night, hain't been breathed ah-eady, 
by his neighbor in the next bed. It's a big sleej in' 
room, we've got out here. Its rafters rest on the 
peaks of the mountains, the sky is its coverin', and 
the curtains are all spangled over with stars. It's open 
all round. The fresh breeze of the mornin', fans the 
face of the sleeper, and he gets a taste of all the pure 
air that's goin.' We ain't pisoned by the cookery, 
and don't stuff ourselves beyond nater with rich food. 
We eat when we're hungry, and what we eat we catch, 
ourselves. We ain't troubled with dispepsy, and wild 
game don't hurt us. Now, Squire, I've a notion that 
a month spent among these lakes and streams is worth 
more to an ailin' man, than a dozen of doctors, and a 
bushel of pills. 

" I mind, once, five or six years ago, a man came 
up from Philadelphy, and wanted, as he said, to get 
into the woods, so as to be out of the way of the 
doctors. He looked gaunt and lean enough, and his 
bones stuck out, like an old buck's, at the end of a 
hard winter. His food troubled him, and he didn't 
relish it, either. His sleep troubled him, and he 



278 Hills and Lakes. 

didn't get an overstock of tliat. Well, he staj'ecl 
around Plattsburgli two or three da3\s, and happenin' 
to liear me, one da}^ when I was down there, tellin' 
about the Shatagee LakeS; he hired me to go v\dth him 
for a week. We went over to the Shazee first, and 
and lived there for a week, on venison and trout, and 
such fixens as we took afong. At the end of that 
time, he began to feel like a new man, and he sent me 
back, for another packload of biscuit and pork. We 
went over to Bradley's Lake, and so down to the 
Shatagee. We visited Eagged Lake, and Ingen Lake, 
and cruised about for a month. He growed better 
and smarter, everj^ day. His strength kept a comin', 
and his lean cheeks filled up, and his eyes lost their 
sickly look, and he came out a new man. He'd 
gained mor'n thirty pounds of flesh. He could di- 
gest a brick-bat, and what he eat warn't never heard 
of again. He paid me as a guide and then doubled 
my fee as a doctor. He said my medicine was the 
cheapest, and best he ever took. 'Twas the pure air 
of the mountains, and stirrin' about, and sweaten', 
and sleeping on hemlock boughs, and goin' to bed 
airly, and gettin' up airly, and Avashin' and swimmin' 
in the cool water night and mornin,' and huntin' and 



The Woods. 279 

fishin*. This was mj medicine, and the best of it was, 
there wasn't anything onpleasant, in the takin' of it. 
Now Squire, I say again, this kind of medicine is 
better for an ailin' man, or one that ain't ailin', than 
all the poticary stuff in creation, and I wonder that 
more people who live in the crowded cities, don't try 
it. I've a notion 'twould be specially good for lawyers 
and scholars, and ministers, who sit in their oflS.ces 
studyin' and writin', or in the crowded courts, breathin' 
the bad air, and swelterin' in heated rooms ; 'twould 
make their heads clearer, and their bodies stronger ; 
'twould save them from a deal of bad feelin's, and 
keep them from bein' poisoned, by the doctors. But 
'tain't no use to preach this doctrine, to people raised in 
the cities. They're in such a hurry to make money, to 
push ahead and get rich, and have so many irons in 
the fire, that they've no time to spend off in the woods, 
alone with nater, or in takin' care of their bodies. 
Besides, half of 'em, don't know anything about 
what's outside the corporation. They never saw a 
lake, and think the woods is full of rattlesnakes, to 
bite 'em, and painters and wolves to devour them, or 
Ingens to scalp 'em, and that if they get outside of 
tlie clearins', thev're done for, sure. All that, is a 



280 Hills and Lakes. 

great foll}^, Squire, and their pale faces and gray hairs, 
that come before their time, ought to tell 'em so. 

'' And jet, it Yfas a wonderful wisdom, Squire, 
that made such a great difference in the likes, and dis- 
likes of men. If everybodj^ in the world was like 
3^ou and me, and loved the woods, and to be away off 
in the deep forests, there wouldn't be much game left 
in these parts, or a great many fishes, in these lakes 
and streams. The hills and valleys, would swarm 
with people, and there wouldn't be much elbow room, 
for you and me. I, may be, meet a man who lives in 
in a city, or great town, who hasn't got any likin' for 
the back settlements, or no taste for the woods, who 
never looks at land, unless to find out what it's worth 
by the acre, whose estimation of a mountain stream, 
is regulated by the amount of machinery it'll carry, 
and whose regard for a lake, is measured by the pros- 
pect of converting it into a millpond. Now, such a 
man wouldn't leave nater, anywhere, one of the nateral 
features of her old-fashioned face. He wouldn't leave 
a deer in the forest, nor a trout in all the streams. 
He'd convert the old trees into cord wood, and these 
narrow valleys into sheep pastures. He'd lay up these 
boulders into fences, or pile them up like hay-stacks. 



Riches vs. Happiness. 28j 

He calculates that time is money, and spendin' a few 
days among these hills and lakes, he'd regard as a reck- 
less waste, like the waste of a man who spends his dollars 
in card-playin', horse-racin,' cock-fightin', and drinkin,' 
and spreein' them away. He wouldn't enj oy himself 
here at all, because his heart wouldn't be among the 
hills and lakes. Well, may be, he looks at me, and 
wonders that I don't seem onhappy and sorrowful, 
away off here, on what he regards as the outside of 
creation, and, may be, pities my forlorn condition. 
He wonders how I can content myself in this region, 
where there ain't any paved streets, and carriages, and 
carts, and stores, and fine houses, and thousands of 
people. He thinks in his heart, I'm a poor ignorant 
creeter, and that my lot in life is a hard one. Well, 
he's right enough in thinkin' I'm poor and ignorant, 
but if he'd give me his fine house and his carriage, and 
all his rich goods, and ask me to live cooped up in 
the city, listenin' to the dull sounds that come up from 
the streets and the work-shops, and all the other manu- 
factories of noises, and breathin' the stenches, and foul 
air, that comes up from the filthy places, everywhere 
around him, I wouldn't look at it. My lot in life 
ain't half as hard as h^5, and I'd tell him so. I'm a 



282 Hills and Lakes. 

free man, I'm no slave to business, nor to wealth, nor 
to tlie customs of tlie world around me. I've got all 
I want to make me comfortable, accordin' to mv 
notions of comfort. I've got a wife that sticks by me, 
and children that loves me, tho' they don't make any 
fuss over me, nor any parade of their feelin's. 

"I've got my rifle, and a canoe on most all of 
these lakes, and I've got an honest dog to go with me. 
I go where I please, and when I please. When I take 
to the woods, I've no business to suffer while I'm 
gone, nor distress my mind, while I'm away in the 
forest. You see, Squire, my lot ain't a hard one, as I 
understand it, and if it suits me nobody need com- 
plain. I've hearn it said, that it takes all kinds of 
people to make up a world, and I believe it. If a rich 
man is happy in his wealth, I don't envy him. It's 
his way. If a great man is happy in his greatness, 1 
don't envy him. It's Ms way too. Such people may 
stand on one edge of society ; somebody is needed on 
the other, to make things balance, and I'm content to 
be that man. Every man's lot. Squire, is hard or 
easy, accordin' as he himself understands it. A man 
can be happy and enjoy life, without bein' rich, or 
wise, or high in office. Wealth is a good thing for 



Enjoyment of Life. 283 

them that desire it. Wisdom is a great thing, too, but 
for all that, rich men and wise men ain't always happy 
men, nor their lot in life the easiest. ISTow Fm rich, 
because I'm contented with what I've got. I'm rich 
for another reason. I live just as I want to live, and 
just as I hke to. My way of livin' suits me, and all 
the wealth of the world, and all the larnin' of the 
schools, wouldn't better my condition, or make me 
any happier by day, nor sleep any better at night. 
Never pity a poor man, Squire, who isn't hungry or 
cold, and is contented with his lot. That's pity thrown 
away. It does nobody any good. I've been around 
among poor people a good deal, — not the poor, and 
the ragged, and starvin' people, that live like pigs, 
huddled together and mixed up in dirty rooms, and 
in the filthy streets of the cities, but the poor people 
of the back settlements of the new country, and let 
me say to you. Squire, them hard-workin' people ain't 
objects of pity. They enjoy life as much, and are as 
happy, accordin' to their ways, as the richest man in 
the cities, or the wisest man either. They laugh, and 
sing, and joke, and are as merry as the best. If their 
food ain't as rich and dainty as yourn, they've a better 



284 Hills and Lakes. 

appetite for it, and tliat makes up tlie difference. If 
their clotlies ain't as fine as yourn, it keeps them 
u^arm, and that's all the rich man's can do. They 
sleep better at night, because they've got no cares to 
trouble 'em, and they don't get up with a head-ache in 
the morning, on account of dyspepsy, for their labor 
keeps up digestion. 

" Don't understand me^ Squire, as belie vin' that 
riches, and larnin' and wisdom ain't to be sought after, 
nor that everybody should be like the people of the 
back settlements I've been speakin' about. I wouldn't 
have everybody like me either. The world would be 
in a bad fix, if it was so. I'd have everybody go 
ahead, everywhere. I'd have all the world try to be- 
come wise, and lamed, and rich, and be polished and 
genteel, and I'd push good society as far towards the 
back settlements as I could, or as the fitness of things 
would allow. I send my children to school, and tell 
'em to get all the larnin' they can, and be wiser, and 
better, and have more property than their father ever 
had. But, as I said afore, it takes all sorts of people 
to make up a world. You've got your place in it, and 
I've got mine, and I'm goin' to stay where I am, be- 



Social Pkogeess. 285 

cause I like it, thougli I own I'd like to see my cliil- 
dren a step or two above me, and, if I lived long 
enougli. to see their children a step or two above them. 
That's m J idee of progress." 



XXVIII 



Thb Stobt of OiiD Pete Meigs. — The Massacre, and ihe Retri- 
bution THAT FOLLOWED. 



" I SAID the otlier day," said Tucker, "I'd tell you 
afore we got home, the story of old Pete Meigs' early 
life, and I'll do it now. It wasn't a thing he liked to 
talk about, and he never spoke of it to me but once. 
I said the other day, he was a strange and solitary 
man, and a gloomy one sometimes. He had places in 
the woods he always seemed to like better than sny* 
where else, and the St. Kegis Lake was one of 'em. 
He would stay round there for days and weeks, and 
he seemed to look on it as his home in the summer 
months. It was one day, while we were paddlin' 
along the shore, round the base of the steep hill, that 
he told me the story of his young days, and the things 
that huQg like a dark shadow and a desolation over 



BlETHPLAdE Of Pete Meigs. 287 

His whole lif^, tliat made him onlike other folks, a 
solitary and a lonely man : 

" ' 1 was born,' said he, ' in the Mohawk country, 
and I remember well my father's log house and 
clearin', was back of the other clearins', along the val- 
ley of a stream that came down from the hills. It was 
about the close of the Ingen war, and a dangerous 
place to live, tho' my father didn't think so. I re- 
member my mother was a Christian woman, and my 
two little sisters and brother, all younger than myself, 
we'd sit around her of an evening, and hear her read 
the Bible by the light of a fatwood knot on the hearth, 
and we'd all sing the simple hymns that we knowed, 
and then she'd kneel down, and pray for us, to the 
great God that hears the prayers of his people, even in 
the deep forests, and away in the lone woods. Wo 
were a happy family then^ all alone there by oniselves, 
and I loved my father and mother, and those little 
sisters and brother, the more because we were so 
alone, and as I have never loved j and never can lov3 
anything else. It^s a sad thing to think that they all 
passed away, in their brightness, and beauty, an«i 
strength, all at once, to become victims to the 
tomahawk and scalping-knives of the Ingens, and 



288 Hills and Lakes. 

their bodies burned in tlie flames of tlaeir own 
home. 

" ' I was fifteen years old then, and a strong, 
knowing boy, for my years. I'd been down one day 
to the Mohawk for the doctor, for my father was sick. 
I had to go five miles on foot to reach him, but he 
was sickj too, and couldn't go. He gave me some 
medicine for my father, and I started back. It was a 
while after dark when I came in sight of our clearin'. 
I didn't go the road, but followed a footpath across tlie 
woods. "When I came to the stream, and was crossin' 
it on a log, I saw the forms of men standin' in the 
darkness round the house, and knew they were 
Ingens, and my heart sunk within me, for I knew 
they Avere there for no good. I hid away in a thick 
bunch of bushes, where I could see the house, for I 
was afraid to go further. I had no weapon, and if 
murder was their object, God help my parents and 
their little ones, for I could do them no good. All at 
once the door was burst open, the savages screamed 
their terrible war cry, and I saAV them rush in like 
devils;. I heard the screams of my little sisters^ and a 
wild shriek from my mother. A great cloud seemed 



The Massacre. 289 

to comft down all around me, my senses left me, and I 
became like one that is dead. 

" ' When I came to myself, I saw the flames of m}^ 
father's house going up towards the sky, lightin' our 
clearin' and the woods around, like the daj^ I saw 
the savages dancin' and yellin' round the burn in' 
cabin ; and I saw on a pole, held by one of them, the 
reekin' scalps of my whole kindred, — the black hair 
of m}^ father, the long tresses of my mother, and the 
silken locks of my little sisters and brother, — all were 
there. There was a strano^e feelin' of calm, intense 
desolation upon me. My senses were all awake as 
they'd never been before ; I was without hope, as I 
was without fear ; I seemed to be another and a new 
being. No mist was before my eyes ; I could look, as 
it seemed to me, through the war-paint on the faces 
of the Ingens, and their wild contortions, and see their 
features, as if they'd been familiar to me for years. I 
seemed to know 'em all, like I knew people I'd been 
with every day, though. I'd never seen one of 'em be- 
fore. I could }dck 'em out among a thousand, and no 
disguise of wai -paint could prevent my knowin' 'em 
again. There was eight of "em, and the one that car- 
ried the pole with the bloody scalps, was taller, nearly 

13 



290 Hills and Lakes. 

by a head, tlian the rest. His arms were long, ahnost 
hke an ape's, and one of 'em seemed stiff at the elbow, 
as if from an old hurt. I counted 'em where I lay in 
the bushes, over and over again j as they danced a hor- 
rible dance round that burnin' pile. I warn't angry^ 
nor sorrowful, nor afraid. A strange sort of calmness 
was on me. I seemed to look on without any thought^ 
but to study the faces and forms of them IngeniS ; why, 
I know not. My feelins' seemed to be all dead. I 
foi'got father, mother, brother, sisters : all passed from 
me, while I looked upon those bloody scalps, and 
studied the faces of them red demons dancin' round. 

" ' After awhile, they gave one last horrible yell, and 
filed off, one after another, towards the forest. They 
passed close to the bush beneath which I lay. He with 
the scalps went first, and the rest in a line behind him* 
I saw all their faces, plain and distinct as I see yours. 
Tiiey all seemed to look straight at me, as they passed 
b}^, and moved away into the still woods. Then a 
drowsiness, heavy, like death, came over me, and I 
sunk away, into a deep sleep, 

" ' When I awoke, the sun was shining. I looked 
out from the bush, and saw the neighbors standin' 
round, and wondered why they were all there. I 



T Hi?] Desolation. 291 

looked for my father's log-lionse, and saw a heap of 
smokin' ruins where it had stood. I came out from 
my hidin' place, and stood among the people, and 
heard them talkin', as if I was in a dream. Presently 
memory came back to me by slow degrees, and Avhen 
I thought of all I'd seen, a sorrow, almost greater 
than human sorrow, came over me. I could not 
weep. My eyes refused to shed tears. My tongue 
would not speak, and I shrieked aloud in my great 
grief, like one whose senses are gone. The neighbors 
gathered around, and spoke kindly to me ; and one 
old man, I remember, put his arm gently around me, 
and led me to the little spring, and as he sat me down 
on the green grass, dipped his hand in the cold water, 
and passed it over my burnin' temples. He sat down 
beside me, and drew me gently to his bosom. I 
seemed to think it was my mother that I leaned 
against, and tears gushed from my eyes, like a fountain 
from beneath a rock. This revived me, and I told 
them all I'd seen. Ten stout men, with rifles, started 
on the trail of the In gens into the deep woods, vowing 
vengeance against the murderers. 

" ' I stood by the smoulderin' ruins, while they 
were removed from above the burned bodies of my 



292 Hills and Lakes. 

only kindred. There lay my father and mother, my 
little brother and sisters, a shapeless mass, in the midst 
of the desolation. They buried them without a cofiin ; 
and all that I had ever loved, all the kindred I ever 
knew, lay together, beneath a little mound raised over 
them, by the kind hands of the settlers from the 
River Bottoms. I went with them, a desolate-hearted 
and sorrowful boy. I had nobody to love, nobody to 
live for. My father and mother, brother, and little 
sisters, all were gone, and I was alone. The neigh- 
bors were all kind to me, and I was among them as 
one of their own, wherever I chose to go ; but for all 
tha,t I was alone. The voices that I loved were all 
gone, the faces that I loved were all gone, and every- 
thing round which my heart clung, had passed away. 
I went with the old man that bathed my temples at 
the spring that morning, and my home was for a time 
with him. I said I was a strong, hearty boy of my 
years. I worked for him, late and early. I was up 
before the sun in the morning, and was by the side of 
full grown men, doin' the work of a man, all the day. 
I had but one desire, and that was a deep, restless, 
consumin' thirst for vengeance — ^but one hope, and 
that was cf the bloody destruction of those who liad. 



Studying Mature. 293 

made life a desolation to me. I wanted a rifle, and a 
knowledge of the use of it. 

" ' Well, at last I had earned money enough to 
buy one, and a good one it was, too. I carried it for 
five and twenty years, and 'twas because I lost it, by 
accident, in the detj water, in the Saranac, that I 
don't carry it now. When I became the owner of a 
rifle, I worked on to procure other things needful to a 
hunter, and then I gave up work, and took to the 
v/oods. I spent days, and weeks in the forest, studyin' 
nater, and the ways of wild animals, and the forest 
signs, and followin' the trails of wild beasts. I 
studied to larn, as boys at school study books. I 
wanted to become wiser in the forest ways, than the 
Ingens were. I longed, with a burnin' longin', -for 
vengeance on their accursed tribes. It was my whole 
thought, and aim, and object, in life. The war had 
passed away. The government was at peace with the 
Ingens, but my war with them, had not yet begun. 
I was young, scarce yet nineteen, and the years of my 
life Avere to be one long, undyin' warfare against 'em. 
The faces of them eight Ingens, that danced around 
our burnin' dwellin', on that horrible night, were al- 
ways before me. I could have picked them out from 



294 Hills and Lakes. 

among a million. Every nigiit, I saw tliem in my 
dreams, and every day they grew more distinct, until 
they seemed to be before me uodilj', and I saw them 
as plain as I see you before me now, and I felt I could 
never rest till I'd hunted 'em out, and slain 'em. 

" ' I told you that on the morning after the murder 
of my kindred, ten of the settlers followed the trail. 
They were gone five days. The Ingens had taken to 
the water at Lake George, and further pursuit was 
useless. Then we knew they belonged toward the St. 
Lawrence, of the tribes beyond the Lower Shatagee. 

*' ' Five years after the murder of my people I 
started for Lake Champlain. I passed up Lake George, 
and so on, up Lake Chamjolain, to above Rouse's 
Point, and then took to the woods. I built a shantee 
on the Shatagee river, and stayed round there for a 
fortnight. I was one day standin' on the brow of a 
hill, lookin' out over the forest, when I saw at a dis- 
tance from me, a blue smoke, curlin' up from among 
the trees. I knew 'twas an Ingen camp, and all my 
thirst for vengeance was strong upon me. I crept 
like a painter, to within sight of their camp. Two 
hunters sat by the fire smokin' their stone pipes. 
'Twas near sundown, and I knew there were no more 



■Revenge. 295 

to come in. The carcasses of two deer hung upon 
trees by their camp fire, and long strings of jerked 
venison, hung upon poles around. I crept closer still, 
and as one of them rose to his feet and turned towards 
me, there stood that long-armed, gigantic Ingen, that 
danced round my father's dwellin', as the flames were 
consumin' it, carryin' aloft the reekin' scalps of my 
murdered kindred. In the other, as I got sight of his 
face, I saw another of the eight, whose faces had been 
with me always since that horrible night. You can't 
think how great my joy was, when I saw them there 
before me. I watched 'em, and glared upon 'em, and 
gloated over 'em, as the tiger watches and glares upon 
his prey, from his secret hidin' place. Worlds would 
not have purchased their safety. I would have 
spurned heaps of gold, if offered for their lives, and the 
prayers of all the good men in the world, wouldn't 
have saved them from my fury. They were mine, 
mine for destruction, as a feast for m}^ vengeance. I 
v/as like a starvin' ]3anther, a hungry and whelp-robbed 
bear. I lay there till night came on, and they slept. 
I crept to where they lay, and removed their rifles. I 
stole their huntin' knives from their sheaths, and 
threw them to a distance. They had gorged them- 



296 Hills and Lakes. 

selves witli food, and slept soundly. I heaped knots 
npon the fire, and it flamed up into a bright blaze. 
Then I stepped back, and shouted. They sprang to 
their feet, and looked round for their rifles. They 
were gone, and there I stood before them with my 
gun poised. " Dogs, woIveS; (I shouted in their own 
tongue, for I'd learned it when a boy,) murderers of 
my kindred, die like dogs and vv olves." One of 'em 
fell dead, at the crack of my rifle. It was the smaller 
one. The other turned to fly, but I was upon him in 
an instant. The strength of a hundred men was in 
me. I hurled him to the earth. My grasp Avas upon 
his throat, my knee upon his chest. Strong as he was, 
he was like an infant in tlie grasp of a furious man. 
I used no weapon in his destruction. I literally 
strano;led him with my hands. It seemed to me that 
to use a rifle, or a knife upon him, would be allowin' 
him a death too noble. I left their carcasses where I 
slew them, a prey for the wolves and the carrion 
birds. 

" ' With their death, my desire for the blood of the 
others of them eight, seemed, if possible, to increase. 
Nay, their destruction would not appease the fierce 
thirst for vengeance that was in me. I wanted to 



V-..-;;' 




DOGS. WOLVES, MURDERERS OF iMY KINDRT.D, DIE LIKE 
DOGS AND WOLVES. Page -296. 



The Consummation of Eevenge. 297 

annihilate tlie whole tribe, even the race itself, as one 
great offerin' to the murdered kindred that I loved so 
dearly. 

" ' On the St. Eegis Eiver, away up towards its 
source, I saw, one day, a smoke goin' np to the clouds. 
I crept within sight of it in the night time, and saw 
five Ingens stretched before the fire ; I could have 
slain them as they lay, but v>^ould not. I felt a strange 
desire to cut them off in detail. To slay them there 
at once, would be too brief a vengeance. I watched 
them till morning. One of 'em shouldered his rifle, 
and started off in a direction towards the St. Lawrence. 
1 followed him stealthily for two or three miles. He 
stopped to look round him, as I broke a dry limb pur- 
posely to attract his notice. That was the first look 
of his face I got, and he was one of the eight. It was 
an open woods where we were, and there we stood, 
facing each other in the forest. The shriek of my 
mother seemed to ring in my ears again, as I raised 
my riflco As the report broke uj)on the stillness of 
the woods, the Ingen leaped into the air, and fell to 
the earth dead. I left him there where he fell. Of 
them five Ingens, not one returned to his tribe. Three 

of them were of the eight that danced around tke 

13* 



Hills and Lakes. 

flames of my home, and yelled, while my kindred's 
bodies were consumin'. I needn't tell you more. 

" ' Joe,' said the old man, as he sunk his head 
down between his hands, ' of them eight Ingens that I 
counted that night, not one sleeps with his tribe, and 
may be the bones of a good many more, lay scattered 
about in the Shatagee country. 'Twas a wrong thing, 
as I look upon it now, and I'm sorry I slew 'em. But 
I was mad then. The murder of my family made me 
crazy in my hatred, of the Ingens, and I thought I 
heard the spirits of those I loved, callin' to me for ven- 
geance. That cloud has passed away from my heart 
now, and if I could undo what I've done, I'd gladly 
do it. But it's too late.' 

'' The old man sat silent for a long time, with his 
head leanin' forward, and his face concealed in the 
palms of his hands ; I saw the tears fall in big drops 
from between his fingers. I did not disturb him, for 
I saw memory was busy with him. I thought may be 
his heart was away to his boyhood's home, that his 
mother was readin' to him from the good book, and 
uis little brother, and flaxen-haired, soft- voiced sisters, 
were around him. It's a sorrowful thing. Squire, to 
see a strong man weep ; to see his iron frame throwin' 



Past Actions. 299 

off tears like a woman. It's a great grief that can 
wring great drops of tears from the ejes of a stout- 
liearted man, when he thinks of the things he's passed 
through on the trail of life. 

" I paddled quietly to our landin'-place, and 
stepped ashore, The old man rose up, and walked 
slowly and sorrowfully to the shantee, and laid down 
on the green boughs, and turned his face away, and 
sobbed like a child. Like a child, too, he sobbed him- 
self to sleep, and lay quietly till daylight. He rose 
up a sad man that morning. The cloud at length 
passed away from his spirit, but we never spoke again 
about the massacre of his kindred, or the vengeance 
he took upon their murderers." 



XXIX. 



A Deerlice. — The Vermonter and his Lickloo — SnooTiNa 

THE WRONG AnIMAL. 



We shot into the expanded mouth of a stream 
that formed the main inlet to the lake. Here we 
landed and followed a path along the bank of a muddy 
little rivulet some quarter of a mile, till we came to a 
little basin, scooped out by the hand of nature in the 
side of the hill. In this basin we found the spring 
from which the streamlet originated. Its waters had 
an unpleasant brackish, mineral taste, and the mire 
out of which it oozed, was trodden as if a flock of 
sheep had been passing through it. Little paths led 
away from it in every direction into the forest. It 
was what is termed in border parlance, a " deerlick." 
Here the deer came in the night to lap its brackish 
waters, and stamp round in the mud. It seemed to 
be greatly frequented, as the paths and thousands of 



A Deerlick. 801 

tracks indicated. It is one of the ways of taking the 
deer, near tlie settlements, where they are scarce and 
"hard to come at, to watch one of these " licks" at 
night, and shoot them as they come in to taste the 
waters. The hunter makes a "blind" of boughs, 
placed in a natural kind of way, thick enough to con- 
ceal him, and yet so arranged as not to attract the 
notice of, or alarm the deer. Behind these he places 
himself, with his rifle protruded through an opening 
among the boughs, large enough to admit of his 
taking aim along the barrel, but not so large as to ex- 
pose his face to the view of the game. He is provided 
with a little torch of fatwood shavings, which will 
readily ignite from a match, and blaze up so as to 
make a flame of the size of a gas-light. This is so 
arranged, that the light will fall upon the deer as he 
stands in the " lick." The hunter takes his position 
behind his blind about sundown, arranges his rifle, and 
his little torch ready for ignition, and sits quietly wait- 
ing for the deer to " come in." In the early part of 
the evening a deer will be heard treading softly among 
the leaves, and walking carefully towards " the lick." 
Sometimes he scents the hunter, and stops and listens. 
If he suspects danger, he will stand whistling and 



302 Hills and Lakes 

stamping, as if endeavoring to call out his liidclen foe. 
If the hunter la}- s quiet, in the course of a quarter or 
half an hour, the deer will overcome his fears, or con- 
clude there is no danger, and walk into the lick. A 
match is cautiously applied to the torch, and as it 
blazes up, he raises his head v/ith a start, cocks his 
tail, and gazes with astonishment at the light. Some- 
times he will make a bound or two and stop, to ex- 
amine the strange fire thus suddenly kindled before 
him. Then is the hunter's time. There must be no 
rustling of leaves, no breaking of dry twigs, or the 
deer will plunge snorting and whistling away into the 
forest, leaving him to his meditations, and the mus- 
qnitos and black flies, till morning, or a dark walk in 
the woods home. If he is careful, his game is so 
near, that his shot will be sure and fatal. 

There is one great drawback to this kind of sport. 
The musquito and black fly swarm round the hunter, 
stinging and biting him almost bej^ond endurance. 
He can have no smudge. He cannot stir, to fight 
them away while the deer is making up his mind 
whether to '' come in," or run away. He can only 
lay still and bear tlie infliction " with what fortitude 
he may." Half an hour of such torment is poorly re- 



A Vermonter. 803 

paid by the death of a deer. I have tried it once, 
and though I endured it to the end, and secured my 
game, yet that one trial satisfied me. I have never 
" Avatched a deerHck" since, and am very sure I shall 
never watch one hereafter. A man whose skin is 
thinner than that of the rhinoceros, if he follows my 
advice will not wait for a deer at a "lick" in the 
Shatagee coimtry. 

" I mind," said my guide, as we paddled back to our 
shantee, " a thing that happened down to the settle- 
ments^ to a young feller that worked for a man there, 
one summer four or five year ago, that made a deal of 
fun among the neighbors for a long time. They 
called him Gabe Calvin, and he was a long, slabsided, 
strappin' youth, from Old Varmont. He was always 
talkin' about the things he'd seen on the Green 
Mountains, and from his tell he was the greatest 
hunter this side of anywhere. The painters, and 
catamounts, and bear, he'd seen, was amazin, and 
you'd a believed that them varmints were thicker 
where he came from, than gray rabbits in the Shatagee 
Woods. He'd hearn tell of deerlicks, and how they 
were sometimes made. So he started out one Sunday 
into the woods, with a bag of salt and an auger. He 



804 Hills and Lakes. 

found an old log, rotten like on tlie outside, such as 
he'd liearn tell Avas the right thing, and he bored it 
full of holes, and put in his salt. That isn't a bad 
wa}^, Squire, to make a deorlick, for if the deer find 
it, as they'll be pretty sure to do if there's many about, 
they'd work at the salt till they've eat up half the log. 
The next Sunday Gabe visited his lick, and sure 
enough the wood was all gnawed away round the 
auger-holes, and he reckoned he'd have a tall time with 
the deer that had done it. So he built him a blind, 
cute as anything, and got things ready to make a gen- 
eral smash of all the game in them parts. He put 
more salt on the logs, and bored new holes and filled 
'em, and when he came back he told about seein' dears 
tracks as big as two year olds. 

'' The man Le lived with had an old Queen Anne's 
piece, long as a liberty pole, with a bore you could 
stick your fist in. It had been through two or three 
wars, to say nothing about scrimmages with the In- 
gens. 'Twas old and rusty enough to draw a pension, 
and hadn't spoke, may be, since the last war. It 
hung up on pegs in the farmer's stoop, and had hung 
there ever since he'd been in them parts. The old 
man that owned it, kept it, as he said, as a kind of 



The Watch. 305 

scarecrow to the Britisli — a sort of notice that 'twas 
an onhealthy climate for 'em about there. 

'' ^yelL Gabe got clown the old musket and scoured 
it up and cleaned out its insides, and put in a new 
flint, and iled up the lock so 'twould go, and then 
loaded it about half full of powder, and buckshot, and 
slugs, and sich distructives, and started about sun- 
down, with his match and little torch, to watch his 
deerlick, and raise thunder generally with his big 
buck that made a track like a two year old. He got 
behind his blind, and poked the long barrel of his old 
Queen Anner through the brush, and laid down be- 
hind it with the breech to his shoulder, waitin' for the 
game. The musquitos poked their long bills into 
him, and the black flies gnawed away at his face and 
bare legs, in a way that made him kick and thrash 
about like a horse tormented by a million of gadflies. 

By and bye, after the dark had come down, Gabe 
heard somethin' walkin' towards his lick, and his 
heart beat like a trip-hammer against his sides, and he 
lay still, lettin' the musquitos and flies bite him and 
be darned. Presently, whatever it was he heard 
walkin' in the bush, stepped up to the log and began 
to lick at the salt, and gnaw the old wood in earnest, 



306 Hills and Lakes. 

as if it liad found something good. Gabe liglited his 
match, and held it cautiously to his shavins of fat- 
wood, and as they blazed up, he sighted along the 
barrel, shut up both eyes, and blazed away too. The 
charge from the old musket went one way, and Grabo 
went the other. The old continentaller, kicMn' him 
worse than a whole team of horses, and the roar that 
was heard in them woods, and went echoin' about the 
hills and bellerin' among the mountains, gave the 
wild things around fits. Gabe rolled over and over 
down the bank, and brought up in a muddy pool, 
with his shoulder half broke, and his cheek bruised as 
if somebody had struck him with a sledge-hammer. 
The folks at home, hearin' the report, concluded they'd 
have venison enough for a week, and no mistake. 
About ten o'clock, Gabe came creepin' along home. 
He hung up his old musket, and stole off to bed in 
the dark. He didn't answer any questions very dis- 
tinctly, and when he crawled out in the morning, sich 
another lookin' animal couldn't be found in the 
Shatagee country. One eye was swelled tight, and 
his face was all on one side, and his shoulder was blue 
all over as an indigo bag. He didn't say much about 
his deerlick, or what he'd let off old Queen Anne at, 



The Mistake. 807 

but tlie next nigtit one of the farmer's yearlins v/as 
missin'. They found it layin' by Grabe's licklog, with 
about twenty holes clean through it. Gabe didn't 
stay about there long. He heard too much about his 
great shot down at his deerlick and his big buck, that 
made a track like a two year old. 



XXX. 



Old SnADR&cH, and the Water Rattlesnaze. — Tucker's notion 
OF Slavery. — The End or that Institution at last. 



After our return to our shantee in the evening, 
and after we had supped, I told Tucker an anecdote, 
concerning an old negro who belonged to my father 
when I was a boy, and when slavery existed in this 
State. I repeat it here, only by way of introduction 
to one of Tucker's peculiar discourses upon a subject 
which had engaged his attention, and upon which he 
had evidently bestowed some reflection. 

My father had become security for a friend, in the 
loau of money, and to indemnify himself against loss, 
had taken a mortgage upon a negro. The debt fell 
upon my father, and he became the owner of a man. 
Old Shadrach was a Yirginian by nurture, but an 
Ethiopian by birth. He was transfeired in a slave- 
ship from the jungles of Africa, when a small boy, to 



Old Shadrach. 809 

enjoy tlie luxuries of civilization in tlie Old Colony, 
or as mucli of them as was compatible with his con- 
dition as a chattel He w^as brought to Steuben, by a 
Virginian, who came there with a large number of 
slaves and plethoric money-bags, to run through all 
the gradations from respectability to absolute destitu* 
tion, and to die at last a pauper, and be buried at the 
public expense. 

Old Shadrach stood in mortal fear of snakes and 
toads, and could be frightened into any measure, by 
the threat of having one of these put in his bed. He 
ran away regularly two or three times every year, and 
would stay away sometimes a fortnight, sometimes a 
month, and on two or three occasions he was gone so 
long, that my father began to congratulate himself 
upon being rid of him entirely. But some morning, 
Old Shadrach would come crawling out from the hay- 
mow, and promise his master solemnly to be obedien 
and industrious, and never run away again as long as 
he lived. I said he stood in mortal fear of snakes. 
He was one day in a canoe, out fishing on the Crooked 
Lake, on the bank of which my father's house stood, 
and drew up what he took to be a rattlesnake. He 
dropped his pole in a perfect horror of afifright, and 



810 Hills and Lakes. 

leaped overboard, roaring for help, as if all the wild 
animals, and poisonous serpents of liis native jungles, 
^rere after him. He could swim like a duck, and he 
struck out for the shore, screaming with horror at 
every pull. Upon reaching the shore, he broke like 
a quarter horse for the house. My father, who was at 
a short distance, hurried up to know the reason of the 
outcry. " Massa," cried Shadrach, in all the earnest- 
ness of terror, " do lake is fall of rattlesnakes." " Get 
out, you wooly-pated rhinoceros," replied my father; 
''who ever heard of rattlesnakes in the water." 
" Golla ! massa !" replied the African, " he dere now, 
sure." My father went out in another canoe, to the 
one in which Shadrach had been fishing, and upon 
securing the pole which was floating about, found 
that Shadrach had hooked an enormous eel, — ^a fish by 
no means common in the lake. But Shadrach regard- 
ing it as belonging to the family of snakes, never 
trusted himself alone after that on the water. 

'' I've hearn a good deal lately, Squire," said 
Tucker, after I had finished my story, " about slavery 
and the slave States, and I've read some tracts and 
newspapers, that have been sent around to almost 
everybody in these parts, on the subject. It seems to 



A Demagogue. 811 

be a ticklish matter, and makes a good deal of disturb- 
ance, and a heap of bad feelins' between the different 
parts of the country ; and I've a notion if there's ever 
to be trouble between the States, it'll be yevy likely to 
grow out of slavery. I'm agin it myself. It's ni}^ 
opinion that the buyin' and sellin' of human men and 
women, is a thing that ain't accordin to nater. It 
don't belong to a free country, and ain't becomin' a 
free people. A man may talk just as much as h(3 
pleases about the blessin's of liberty, and his good 
will towards the spread of human rights, but if he 
justifies tradin' in human flesh and blood, and up- 
holds it as a right thing, he ain't a republican in his 
heart. The liberty he talks about, means freedom to 
himself. His human rights is his own rights, and 
nobody's else, and I'm agin' him. I won't trust my 
liberty, nor my rights, nor the rights of my children 
in his hands, if I can help it, for all his big words and 
oily talk. But I ain't goin' off on a cruise agin' 
slavery either. We havn't got any slavery in this 
State, and I'm glad of it. It's my notion that we came 
across a great blessin', when it was done away with. 
It's a great clog on the heels of a country. It keeps it 
from movin' along and goin' ahead. 



812 Hills and Lakes. 

"Labor, Squire, is a great regulator of public 
morals. I mean free labor, — labor that's paid for, — » 
independent labor, that brings a harvest of reward, 
and that makes a man and his little ones comfortable, 
and gives 'em a decent education, and a home. There's 
nothing in this country that should make a man 
ashamed to work. Look out over all the free States, 
and think that two hundred years ago, all that you 
look upon, all the broad farms, the towns, and the 
sites of the great cities, were all a wilderness, covered 
with huge trees. Them great trees had to be chopped 
down, one at a time. The men who did that work 
were entitled to some credit, — more, by a long shot, 
than if they'd mown down armies of men. and j^lun* 
dered their country. Their battle was with the for- 
ests, and the victory they won, was over the wilder- 
ness. It didn't co5t anybody's blood, nor anybody's 
treasure. The men w^ho did that work, had a right to 
take a digoified and a high place among the people of 
the airth, and their children needn't be ashamed of 
their fathers, nor of followin' their example. The 
world gave them the credit they were entitled to, and 
it gave dignity to labor, and a good name to the man 
that worked. It's so still. It's nothing agin' a man, 



Dignity of Free Labor. 313 

in this State, to saj he's a workin' man. That he 
aims his bread by the labor of his hands, because tho' 
he keeps busy all the long day, there's nothing servile 
in his labor. He occupies his own place in the world, 
and is just as independent in his feelin's, in his 
thoughts, and opinions, and just as likely to be rich, 
and high in office twenty years hence, as the next 
man. But in slave States it ain't so, and can't, ac- 
cordin' to nater, be so. Free labor can't exist right 
alongside of slave labor, without robbin' it of its dig- 
nity, and makin' it a disgrace. In them States, the 
work is done hy the slaves, and they are a contemned 
and a despised race. The slave works ; and the rich 
and proud people take up the notion, that every man 
that works must be looked upon just like a slave, he- 
cause he works. They've a notion that a man who 
can't or won't own a slave to do his work for him, 
ain't of much account any how, and they look down 
u]Don him, as one lower down oi tiie ladder of respec- 
tability than themselves. They make him eat at the 
second table, and take their own leavin's at that, and 
that's a thing, Squire, a free American don't often feel 
inclined to stand. Will anybody tell us, Squire, why 

old Virginia, that was the greatest, the richest, and 

14 



814 Hills and Lakes. 

most populous State in the Union, at the close of the 
Eevolutionarj war, has fallen behind a good many 
other States now ? The reason of it can't be found in 
her climate, far that,- I'm told, is about the linest in 
the world. It can't be found in the nater of her soil, 
for Tm told it was once the richest in this country. It 
isn't because ©he hasn't any ocean harbors, nor because 
there ain't any streams or rivers, that come down over 
precipices and steep places, to make great water-wheels 
roll roundy and set machinery in motion, for people 
that pretended to kixow,. have tald me that there's 
plenty of all these. The truth is, that slavery an(^ 
slave labor spiles a people. It m^akes the master ex^ 
travagant, and proud, and above work,- and there ain't 
much encouragement for the slave to be smart, when 
it don't make him any richer or more respectable. It 
comes over a country like a great blight and a mildew,^ 
that takes away the enterprise and the energy of a 
people, and dries up the go ahead principle, that would 
otherwise make ^em push along and keep movin' ; and 
because it does all this, I'm agin' it. 

*'Then there's the great moral sin of slavery. 
What right has one man, I should like to know, to 
buy and sell another man, made by the same God, 



Fkeedom vs. Slavehy. 315 

fashioned from the same clay, subject to the same 
nateral laws, governed by the same reason, possessin' 
the same instincts, and bound to the same eternity at 
last ? I'm a poor man, Squire, and I hold my title to 
my libert}^, as I understand it, not by anything I've 
done, but because I'm a man. I hold it, not on ac- 
count of what my fathers did, not because they were 
strong, or rich, or virtuous, or wise, but because Grod 
gave me a human form, a face after his own image, 
and a livin' soul ; and every creeter possessin' them 
attributes, has just as good a right to his liberty as I 
have to mine. Strong men may rob me of it, as 
they've done to millions and millions of men for thou- 
sands of years, and are doin' every day, but that don't 
wipe out m.y right, nor alter the everlastin' fact that 
I'm entitled, by a charter given to me by God, to be 
free. 

''And then there's another matter I don't like 
about it. We talk everlastin'ly about our free insti- 
tooshuns, and use a wonderful deal of big words, es- 
pecially about election times, and Independence days, 
about all men bein' by nater equal, and braggin' about 
our love of freedom, while we've got, right under our 
noses, a livin' contradiction of it all. We talk about 



316 Hills and Lakes. 

this country bein' tlie liome of the free, and a place for 
the oppressed of all nations of the airth to find their 
rights, and their nateral position in, when in one-half 
of these States, and in the ten miles square where the 
Congress is held, and which belongs to all the joeople of 
the Union, the very worst sort of oppression and wrong 
is carried on, under the sanction of law, and by the au- 
thority of the constitooshun. Oppression and wrong, 
that takes away from thinkin', and reflectin' men, and 
women, every right that pertains to 'em as human 
creeters, and makes 'em things to be traded on, to be 
bought and sold like oxen, or bags of wheat, or bales 
of cotton. It's a great shame, and a burnin' reproach, 
and I don't wonder that kings and emperors and great 
lords of other countries, turn up their noses at the 
idee of our preachin to them^ about knockin' the 
chains of despotism off the necks of their people. 

But as I said before, I ain't goin off on a cruise 
agin' slavery. May be I don't understand it, as I 
don't claim to be a wise man, and never was among it. 
I shan't quarrel with the slave States about upholdin' 
it. If they think it a blessin' they've a right to enjoy it, 
so far as I'm concerned, and I've no right to interfere 
with 'em in doin' so, and New York hasn't any right 



The Injustice of Slavery. 817 

to interfere. If it's a sin, tliey and not we, are to an- 
swer for it. Besides, so long as I see such men as 
Harry Cla}^, and Daniel Webster, and General Taylor, 
takin' care of it, I don't feel very uneasy, and I've 
come to the conclusion that it won't break up tke 
Union just yet. 

'^ I don't know as it's altogether right, but when I 
look around, and see the great events that are takin' 
place in the world, I begin to study into matters, and 
see if I can trace the designs of Providence, in what 
he permits to be goin' on upon this airth, and what 
the end of it all is to be. ISTow I look upon slavery 
as the wickedest system, the mightiest sin against God, 
and man, that the world ever looked upon. And 
while I say of the great Kuler of the world that '' he 
ordereth all things well," and that everything will 
come out right at last, I ask myself, why is all this 
great wickedness, this wonderful wrong permitted to 
grow np, and spread so ? I sometimes think that I 
have studied out the reason of it all, and found out the 
great plan that is to be accomplished by it, and, fool- 
ish as it may seem in me, I'll tell you what I believe 
it to be. Africa, as I've been told, and read in books, 
is a wild, and savage country, where the people, not 



318 Hills and Lakes. 

long ago, had no knowledge of the things that belong 
to civilization, that they were poor, ignorant, heathen 
idolaters, that had never heard of the Bible, nor any- 
thing that belonged to the Christian religion. That 
most of the tribes, were rovin', and wild barbarians, 
mostly at war, killin' and planderin' and enslavin' 
each other. I've been told too, that Africa is away 
south, and that the sun looks almost straight down upon 
it, from the beginnin' to the end of the year, and that 
white people of other countries, become weak, and 
feeble, and die, under the bad influences of the climate, 
and that the black man is the only human creeter, 
that's fitted to live, and be healthy, and strong there. 
Well, I see that them savage people have been brought 
to this countr}^, and slaves though they be, ignorant 
and foolish though they be, they become acquainted 
with human ways, and larn to live like civilized, and 
Christian folks. They grow up with some knowledge 
of the Bible, and of the Christian religion, and each gen- 
eration knows more than the one that went before it. 
Some of them become free, and are edicated, and one 
way and another, pick up a great deal of knowledge. 
I see away down south, in the British islands, they 
have all become free, so far as actual slavery is con- 



Good resulting from Slavery. 819 

cerned ; and I see it stated in tlie newspapers, that 
there is one independent nation of black people, now 
inhabiting one of the great islands between North 
and South America. I see too, that in most of the 
Southern States, the black people are increasin' faster 
than the white folks, and it may be, that away off in 
the future, after hundreds of years shall have passed 
away, there will be, away down south, a country em- 
bracin', may be, ten Southern States, a great nation 
of black people, independent of all other nations, 
makin' their own laws, a Christian and civilized na- 
tion, servin' God accordin' to the Bible. And then 
again, I read of the colored people goin' back to Af- 
rica, b}' ship-loads, carry in' with them civilization, 
and Christianity, and the Bible, and that they are 
spreadin' out, and growin' amazin'ly, in that country 
of their fathers. When I see all this, I say to myself 
that the end of this cruel wrong, and great wicked- 
ness of slavery, is to build up the colored race, and 
make them a civilized and Christian people. That 
Biavery, wicked as it surely is, is to be the means of 
of civilizin' and Christianizin' Africa. To save the 
negro race from bein' clean wiped out, as the Ingens 
of this country will, one day be. To make Africa a 



320 Hills and Lakes. 

home for Christian men, and give to a portion of the 
black people a country and a home, at least, on this 
side of the great Ocean, in a climate fitted for 'em." 

" Well," said I, '' Tucker you have studied out, as 
you say, a plausible theory. But if such were the 
designs of Providence, could they not have been 
brought about with less of what you call wickedness 
and cruel wrong, and in a shorter period than will be 
required to accomplish it all ? 

" Squire," he replied, "it is not for you and I to 
sit in judgment upon the dealin's of Providence, in re- 
gard to his management of the things he has made. 
What to man's wisdom seems to be a mystery beyond 
findin' out, ma}^ one day be made plain, and the things 
that look crooked now, one day seem all straight and 
right. I don't undertake to say my notions as to 
this matter are correct all through, but you and I 
know that the children of the men, that hard-hearted 
and wicked people stole in Africa, and brought over 
the ocean and sold into slavery here, have taken back 
to that same Africa, civilization, and freedom, and the 
Bible. We know, too, that the generations of the 
colored people, as they come along, are creepin' up, 
slowly, in knowledge, and in the ways of white folks ; 



The Gr e o w t h of Time. ^1 

and it isn't onlikely that each generation of tlie future, 
will creep np a little higher, till one day they may at- 
tain to the full growth and perfect stature of manhood, 
and in all that belongs to the most finished work of 
the great God, 

" As to what you say respectin' the time necessary 
to bring it all about, I have thought of that, too, and 
I've read in the Bible what, to my notion, answers it 
all. Kater, or rather the great God of nater, ain't 
bound down to years, or hundreds of years. With 
Him, ' a single day is as a thousand years, and a thou- 
sand years as one day.' Hundreds of generations 
passin' before Him, are as the lightnin' flashin' from 
the cloud, before the eyes of a man. It takes the tall 
pine a hundred years to grow to its full strength, and 
yet another hundred years to grow weak, and rotten, 
and fall to the ground. It took this country two hun- 
dred years to fit itself for independence and progress, 
but the causes that were to make it great, and. firm, 
and strong, were all the time at work. So it will take 
the black people a long while to grow up, an4 the 
white people a long time to go down, before the great 
change can come. You and I, Squire, must finish our 

work in the time allotted to us. We must hurry on 

14* 



322 Hills akd Lakes. 

to its completion wliile our day lasts, and our sun of 
life is in the skv, or we shall be overtaken by the 
darkness before our task is done. But with the great 
Ruler of the universe, there is no mornin', and no 
night; there is no yesterday, nor to-morrow. With 
Him all time is present, — an everlastin' and eternal 
NOW. And whether He puts forth his arm, and hurls 
things with the rush of the tempest, or leaves them to 
the silent but sure process of ages, it is all the same. 
You and I, of course, will not live to see it, nor will 
any that can trace us out as among their forefathers, 
see it ; but I believe that away off in the long future, 
may be hundreds and hundreds of years to come, 
Africa will be made up of great nations of colored 
people, all civilized and Christianized, havin' gTeat 
navies and merchant ships visitin' all parts of the 
world, and factories, and machine shops, and great 
cities, and broad farms, and abundance of wealth, and 
worshippin' God accordin' to the Bible. And I be- 
lieve, too, that some portion of what is now indepen- 
dent States of this Union, and the islands of the Mexi« 
can Gulf, will be other independent and free nations 
of civilized and Christianized colored people ; and all 
this mighty change will grow out of thia great wicked- 



The End of Slavery. 823 

ness of liuman slavery. In this way, as I heard a 
preacher say once, the very wickedness of the people 
will be made to carry foward the good work of the 
great God, and the wrath of man be made to praise 
Him." 



XXXI. 



Moonlight on the "Water. — A Village wiped out. — The Au Sa- 
ble. — Keeseville. — The Gorge. — An Ore Pit. 



This was one of tlie most beautiful evenings that I 
had seen since I entered the woods. The moon was 
at full, and its brightness was upon everything around 
us. Mountain and forest and the still lake were all 
shining in its beams, and the little bays, hidden with- 
in the shadows of the tall trees, had just enough of 
obscure and spectral twilight about them to give them 
a superstitious and solemn charm. While my guide 
slept I seated myself in our little craft and drifted out 
into the water, for it was too pleasant for sleep. 

Nothing can be more delightful than to float on 
one of these beautiful lakes in a calm, warm night. 
There is nothing but sweetness in the air, nothing but 
pleasant sounds falling upon the ear. The loon lifts 
up his clarion voice, waking the echoes of the moun- 



Adieu to the Woods. 325 

tains, and his quavering notes die away like the voice 
of a trumpet in the distance. The owl hoots solemnly 
in the woods, and the frog croaks along the shore. 
The air moans among the tall old pines, and the tro^^ 
splashes the water as he leaps in his gladness sib(VQ 
the surface. The fire flies flash their tiny to'ches, 
and the stars look ujd from away down in th- quiet 
waters and down from the sky above you. If you 
shout, a thousand voices echo back the soind. If 
you sing, hundreds of voices prolong the soig ; w^hile 
through all the night sounds, silence se-^ms to be 
struggling for dominion, and you sa}^, -^iiile a hun- 
dred voices are heard at once, how still i: is. 

The time to which I had limited m/ tramp in the 
woods had already expired, and the next morning, 
while the sun was just showing his great red face 
through mist and haze over the sunimit of the eastern 
hills, we bid adieu to these beautiful lakes, the most 
picturesque and charming in all this broad country, 
and started for the nearest settlement towards the 
Champlain. We struck for Franklin Falls, a little 
hamlet, the one deepest in the forest in that direction, 
on the Saranac river, eighteen or twenty jnilcs dis- 
tant. We reached it w^eary enough about three 



326 IIiLLs AND Lakes. 

o'clock. We were hungiy enough, too, and tlie din.' 
ner cooked by the landlady, after the way of civiliza- 
tion, the fresh wheat bread and the sweet milk, was a 
peasant thing to sit down to. 

^his pleasant little hamlet has its history, eventful 
thougx brief, a part of which has transpired since my 
guide ^nd myself visited it on this our return from 
our '' tTim^ in the Chataugay woods." It was a small 
place thet, and has since been entirely " wiped out." 
It has, h(^wever, appeared again, and it is now, in 
1854, a smart, neat little town, remarkable, however, 
only for one of the finest mills for the manufacture of 
lumber in tU State— a mill capable of sawing forty 
thousand feet of lumber per day. I have never seen 
so extensive an establishment for the manufacturing 
of lumber, about which everything was so neat, and 
which is managed with such system and order. There 
are, perhaps, a dozen or more houses clustered to- 
gether, conspicuous among which is a large tavern 
house just being finished. A year ago, this little 
town was as large as it is now. It contained as many 
houses, nearly as good a mill, and as many inhabit- 
ants. It was squatted down right in the woods — all 
around it was forest. The trees that had been chop- 



A Town burnt up. 327 

ped down, and tliose that had been blown down, lay 
where they fell, with all that was combustible around 
them, in a fit condition for burning. A fire in the 
woods here, under any circumstances, is a terrific 
thing, but when such additional incentives to its fury 
as were scattered around this little town exist, it is 
irresistible. From some cause a fire broke out some 
half a mile to the south-west of the village. The wind 
was strong, and the flames rushed forward with the 
speed of a race horse and the roar of a tornado. Its 
career was one of resistless fury. Flashing and swirl- 
ing, leaping upward and onward, the dense columns 
of smoke and flame curling and wreathing towards 
the sky, and borne forward by the w^inds, soon 
reached the devoted little town. The power of man 
was as a reed in its course, and every vestige of the 
village was swept away. Houses, barns, shops, mills, 
everything that would burn, was consumed, and 
where, when the sun rose, was a busy hamlet, when 
it set, was only smoking desolation. Not a vestige 
of a human habitation — not a structure reared by the 
hands of man — was left. The little town in the woods 
was wiped out, and smouldering ruins, charred 
chunks, and heaps of ashes, alone marked the spot 



828 Hills and Lakes. 

wliere it stood. The flames, as if rejoicing in their 
power, swept onward over the hill, to the north, leav- 
ing desolation behind them, and paused onl}^ when 
thej found no dry thing to consume. Any other 
man than the owner of the town, would have sunk 
under the calamity. Some $50,000 of his property 
was destroyed, and, with other embarrassments press- 
ing upon him, the spirit of any other man would have 

been broken. Not so with P C . With a 

will that nothing could bend — an energy unconquer- 
able as destiny — he rose up from the misfortune that 
overwhelmed him, defiant of fate, and scorning the 
power of the elements, he reared from those ashes of 
desolation, a ]3hoenix — stronger and better than that 
which destruction had swept away. Where the old 
mill stood, stands a better one. Hundreds of thou- 
sands of feet of lumber are joHed along the road, for 
half a mile, and great stacks of it surround the mill. 
Thirty teams are drawing from these long rows of 
piled-up boards, and as one pile disappears another 
takes its place. Where the former tavern and store 
stood, stands another and a better. Each dwelling- 
house destroyed, is replaced by a new one, and a few 
charred fragments scattered about, are all that remains 



True Energy. 329 

to remind one of tlie fire that made sncli a clean sweep 

of the town. Honor, I say, to all such men as P • 

C . They may be unfortunate ; they may under- 
take more than human agency can entirely perform ; 
they may not succeed in ariiassing a fortune ; destiny 
may be against them ; they may work hard and die 
poor; they may fall; their notes may be protested ; — 
but the world owes them a debt of gratitude. It is 
just such men who |)ush forward civilization — who 
sweep away the forests — w^ho let the sun, with its ge- 
nial influences, down upon the earth, where tall trees 
once obstructed his rays — who spread out green fields, 
and build up towns in the ancient wilderness — w^ho 
give employment to labor, and impress progress upon 
everything around them. Bankers may discredit 
their notes, and usurers prey upon them; but they 
are the true " manifest destiny men," who give to our 
country practical dominion over nature, by pushing 
civilization into the waste and desolate places in the 
wilderness. They chain the mad waters to great 
Avheels, and make them grind corn, give shape and 
fitness for use, to great forest trees, extract the metals 
from the solid rock, and throw the shuttle and spin. 



330 Hills and Lakes. 

Honor to all such men as P C , I say-— let 

the world judge them as it may. 

We left Franklin Falls the next mornin«: for the 
valley of the Au Sable, ^■^arriving at the Forks, 
my "tramp in the Chat^Ji^ woods" was over. I 
had left the "hills and lakes" far behind me, the latter 
sleeping as I found them, in the quietude of the for- 
ests and among old primeval things. " Au Sable 
Forks" is twelve miles above Keeseville. It is a little 
manufacturing town. When I say little, I mean only 
in respect to the number of houses, for the amount of 
business done in the shape of iron making, is greatly 
disproportionate to the outward seeming of the place. 
There is here one of the largest establishments for the 
manufacturing of iron and nails on the river. A sin- 
gle firm make some twelve handred kegs of nails 
weekly, and in all the departments of their business, 
employ between five and six hundred men. The 
great hammers are pounding away continually — some 
forty nail-making machines are clanking— the great 
waterwheels are going on their ceaseless rounds— the 
big bellows are puffing — the forges and furnaces are 
blazing — and the great rollers are turning out their 
fiery serpents always, save from twelve o'clock Satur- 



Keeseyille. 831 

day till twelve o'clock Sunday niglits of each week. 
Everybody and everything are busy. Teams are 
busy, men are busy, the waters are busy. Business, 
activity, energy, go-aJjM^are written upon every- 
thing. ^^P 

We hired a conveyance to take us to Keeseville. 
This is a pleasant town on the banks of the Au Sable 
river. It is a quiet place, away from the thunder of 
railroads, the roar of the steam-pipe, or the scream of 
the steam- whistle ; but you hear, day and night, other 
sounds quite as indicative of civilization, quite as sug- 
gestive of progress. The blows of the monster trip 
hammer, the ceaseless rumbhng of great waterwheels, 
the puf&ng of great bellows, and the clank of ma- 
chinery, are never silent, save on the Sabbath. The 
world knows but little of the natural wealth of this 
portion of the State, or the extent of its manufactures. 
On this little river, within fifteen miles of Keeseville, 
are made over eight thousand tons of nails alone — not 
from iron manufactured abroad, but from ore dug 
from the bowels of the earth here. It will be remem- 
bered that this vast amount constitutes but a portion 
of the iron manufactured here. You will hear the 
pondrous hammer as it makes the iron into bars of all 



332 Hills and Lakes. 

sizes, and you will see it piled in huge quantities in 
tlie store-liouses connected with the works, while 
teams are constantly employed drawing it away to 
Port Kent, the depot wh^^M|arts on its journey by 
water to the southern and eaffcern markets. The man- 
ufacturers here, dig their own ore, separate and wash 
it. They burn their own charcoal, and from the ore 
that is taken from the mines, they go clear through 
with the manufacture of iron, vvdthout the use of a 
single material that is not produced on the spot, or 
within the same township. The ore goes in at one 
end of the works, and comes out in nails or finished 
bars at the other. The rushing sound of the great 
bellows, the rumbling of the waterwheel, the thunder- 
ing blo^vs of the trip hammer, and the clank, clank, 
of the nail-making machines, are all mingled on the 
ear at once. 

It was a pleasant thing to see one of these great 
workshops in the night time. The glare of the forges, 
the intense light of the chunks of iron as they came at 
a white heat from the blazing furnace, to see them 
pass through the immense rollers as they were formed 
into fitness for nail-making, coming out from the 
pressing machine longer and longer, increasing in 



The Gorge. 333 

lengtli, stretching out and running along tlie floor 
like gigantic fiery serpents, wliile tlie stalwart opera^ 
tives handled tliem with iron tongs, as if they were 
harmless things. I visited one of these works at mid- 
night, and spent an hour among the furnaces and 
blazing iron, looking upon these strong-armed men as 
they converted seeming rocks into one of the most 
u.seful articles of commerce. 

The Gorge, some two miles below Keeseville, is 
one of the greatest curiosities of this country. The 
river goes roaring, and plunging, and cascading, more 
than a mile, through a chasm some thirty feet wide, 
on either side of which the rocks rise in perpendicular 
precipices from one to two hundred feet in height. 
On the top of these ledges you may stand, on the very 
verge of these great high walls, and look away down 
upon the boiling waters, as they go surging and roar- 
ing on their Avay. This chasm does not seem to have 
been worn out by the river in its everlasting flow, but 
to have been made by the parting of the hills. The 
rocks on one side are counterparts of the rocks on the 
other, as if pulled apart. Kock matches rock, and 
shape is fitted to shape. An indentation on the one 
side, is matched by a prominence on the other, and 



8o4 HtLLs AKD Lakes. 

yon can see plainly that if tlie river conld be with* 
drawn, and tlae chasm pressed together^ the two sides 
would fit like the halves of an apple that had been 
cleft by the blade of a knife* Above Keeseville are 
evidences that a lake once covered what is now a 
beautiful valley, stretching away for miles to the 
sonth-west, and through which the Au Sable now 
flows. Where now are rich farms, was once the bot- 
tom of this lake, and fishes sported above the fields 
that are now rich meadows, or covered with grain* 
Some mighty power, centuries upon centuries ago, 
struggling in the remote depths of the earth, up- 
heaved these hillsj till the surface parted, leaving this 
gorge, through which the pent-up waters rushed, and 
emptying the lake of its contents, and giving its foun- 
dations to the world as a place for man to beautify, 
over which the ploughshare should pass, and his 
flocks and herds feed. 

In company with a friend, I went some three miles 
West of the village, to what is called Halleck Hill, to 
see one of those quiet landscapes, upon which the eye 
loves to rest. It was not a rugged mountain scenery, 
where giant ranges stretch away, and tall peaks lift 
their bald heads to the clouds. There was no desola- 



pATRioTic Quakers. SSo 

tion, no wild aad rock}^- sterility, but a beautiful, level 
plain, a valley reacHng away for miles, rich in agri- 
cultural products, and teemiug witli the evidences of 
wealth and civilization. Away off to the right wa3 
the Champlain. The spires of Plattsburgh could be 
seen in the distance, seeming to rise like white pillar;3 
from the depths of a belt of forest, while in front of 
them can be viewed the spot where was fought the 
naval battle of Lake Champlain^ in the last war. Tho 
beautiful landscape before me was the valley of the 
little Au Sable. It was settled by Quakers, men of 
peace, who till the ground in quiet, and never go up 
to the wars with weapons of destruction in their 
hands. The spot was pointed out to me where these 
peaceful people, startled by the booming cannon, 
went up and stood to view the conflict on the lake^ 
when McDonough and Downie fought against each 
other. These nien of peace were patriots. They 
loved their country, and while from princijDle they 
refrained from the shedding of human blood; yet their 
hearts and their prayers were with their countrymen, 
against their country's foes. When the smoke of the 
battle floated away, and the triumph of American 
arms was manifest, there went up a shout of gladness, 



336 Hills and Lakes. 

a loud liurrali from these honest Quakers, which 
showed that the old man was strong within them. 

In plain view from where I stood is the little 
island on which the killed in that memorable battle 
were buried. There^ in the midst of the lake, side by 
side, in amity, rest the bones of those who struggled 
against each other on that day of mortal strife. Death 
is a queller of animosities, and the hands that struck 
at each other in life, are quiet enough in the grave. 
Brave men are sleeping on that little island. It should 
be regarded as consecrated ground, and a tall monu- 
ment should be erected to their memory. It should 
be made to speak of the noble daring of the men who 
periled and lost their lives for their country. There 
are no rich men buried there. No titled men. They 
were the sailors, men who stood by the great guns, 
and whose breasts were bared to the foe. They were 
Vv'hat the world calls common men, and who, had they 
survived the battle, would have lived and died with- 
out fame; but they are just the men Avho win victo- 
ries, and bring fame to commodores and generals, and 
upon wlio.^.i; bravery hangs the result of the battles. 
Over tho ')ones of these brave men buried here, 
these poc*^ men, these sailors, these "common men," 



Entkance to the Mines. 337 

should be erected what will save them from desecra- 
tion, and tell to the far-off generations how stoutly 
they fought, and how bravely they fell in the cause 
of their country. 

I went in company with my friend to the Palmer 
Hill ore bed. This hill, which supplies at present 
most of the forges with ore, rises from a level plain 
to the height of perhaps two hundred feet, in a round, 
conical form, having a diameter at its base of from 
one and a half to two miles. The main opening to 
the mines, or rather where the principal vein cropped 
out, and where it was first worked, is near the top of 
the hill. The vein pitched downward at an angle of 
some forty-five degrees, and has been worked a vast 
distance into the hill. As I approached one of these 
vast openings, a stream of cold air came up, which in 
the sultriness of the heat above was exceedingly re- 
freshing. I stood looking away down into what to 
me were unknown depths, where the darkness was 
impenetrable, when a sound came up from the very 
centre of the hill, louder to my ears than a hundred 
cannon, and went bellowing, and roaring, and shak- 
ing the earth as it reverberated among the drifts and 

deep excavations of the mines. I started back in af- 

15 



338 Hills and Lakes. 

fright, while my friend enjoyed a hearty laugh at my 
amazement. It was a blast made in a remote part of 
the mines. We entered the hill by a tunnel of some 
three hundred feet in length, by which teams enter 
to draw out the ore that is raised from the deep foun- 
dations of the mines. We found several wagons in 
this interior of the mountain, being loaded with ore. 
Above us was a lofty arch sustained by gigantic stone 
pillars, and supporting a roof of perhaps a hundred 
feet of solid rock, through which, at intervals, the 
light came down through great chimneys, as it were, 
and through which we could look out upon the clear 
sky. All around us were openings that stretched 
away^ hundreds and hundreds of feet down, through 
the gloomy depths of which, the lamps of a hundred 
miners twinkled like tiny little stars in the darkness. 
We could hear their hammers, as they drilled into the 
solid ore, and ever and anon would come the deafen- 
ing roar of the blasting, shaking the arches by its de- 
tonations, and dying away among the caverned depths. 
A ladder was visible, down which I was invited to 
descend to where the little lights twinkled. But I 
declined. I prefer daylight and a firm footing, to a 
possible tumble of hundreds of feet among broken 



Mines of Iron-ore. 339 

rooks, and being dashed to pieces in tlie darkness. 
While we were in the hill, the hour for dinner was 
announced. The little lights at once began to move, 
and in a few minutes, scores of miners began to 
emerge from the darkness, up the ladders, covered 
with the black debris of the mines, and looking like 
an army of Cyclops fresh from the forges of Yulcan. 
I was glad when my foot was on the surface again ; 
and when I stood on the level plain with only the sky 
above me, with no dark caverns into which to stum- 
ble, and no arch of rocks to fall upon me, I felt as 
McGrregor did when his "foot was on his native 
heath." I am reasonably courageous on the earth's 
surface, where I can see danger if it exists, where I 
can either meet it or run from it, but my nerves won't 
stand darkness and gloomy caverns, and dark holes 
in the ground are my abhorrence. This mine is ex- 
haustless, and the deeper it is wrought the richer and 
more abundant does the ore become. There are other 
beds scattered around over this region, which will 
supply the iron-mongers forever, but this is the one 
from which they at present draw their largest supply. 
At Plattsburgh my guide and I separated, he to 
go back to his log-house and little clearing, on the 



840 Hills and Lakes. 

borders of civilization, and I to my liome in the citjr 
His cheerful and contemplative disposition will make 
him a contented and a happy man. We parted with 
regret, certainly so far as I am concerned, and were I 
to judge by the warm and generous grasp of his hand, 
I should infer there was a little of the same feeling in 
his own heart, when he said to me at parting, as I 
now say to the reader, " Good-bye, and a smooth trail 
through life to you." 



THE END. 



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